


You Know I've Been To Sea Before

by orochiis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Radio / Band AU, side Ingrid/Sylvain, some other pairings blink and youll miss them, the most self indulgent thing ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orochiis/pseuds/orochiis
Summary: Linhardt and Marianne know each other through working in the same field, and are intrigued by the other's existence- she follows his instagram, while he never misses one of her shows. When they start to cover local music events under the watchful eye of Seiros FM's DJ Byleth, they find that the biggest three local bands- Strike Force, Blue Lions, and Claude and the Golden Deer- are locked in a music war. Who will come out on top?
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Spiderwebs

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest this is probably the worst thing i've written in the last two years but I really enjoyed writing it it was so self indulgent lol it definitely reads like a fifteen year old whos never planned a story before wrote it and thats okay 
> 
> This was written for the 3H AU Bang, and will feature art from [Ribbon](https://twitter.com/Ribbon_nyao) and [Mythiicat](https://twitter.com/mythiicat) in later chapters! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlists for this fic! These aren't literally the songs that they're playing, though some are mentioned by name (or not but you Know). It's just vibes :)
> 
> [Black Eagles (Strike Force) ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5IcUB9RzLxZ1mYZ8KftYgx?si=_Ld8Q_UNTAK6XAZrxb8b0Q)
> 
> [Blue Lions](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7BJJJKKohnoyPTlW4Q9Lzr?si=1CwbFAvRT7ilxVVCJxFBZw)
> 
> [(Claude & the) Golden Deer ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5eyvuMSC65MchMP96bwajg?si=gzeSCQXJTMSNAb0woTsPWQ)

“Are you just going to stand there all evening, or are you going to do anything remotely helpful?” Ingrid asks, lifting the phone out of Felix’s hands.

“You ask me to close, this is what you get. You know I’m a better opener.”  
  
“And you know that I need you on close sometimes. Honestly, I don’t know why I hired you sometimes,” Ingrid sighs, disappearing off into the kitchen, Felix’s phone going with her.

“Because you felt sorry for me,” Felix calls after her. It was true – he’d only landed the job because he kept complaining about how he didn’t have any money and Ingrid had an opening for a barista, and later a supervisor. He wasn’t that great at it because he didn’t care, but it paid for his rent and food and guitar upkeep when he needed it.

“Damn right,” Ingrid yells back.

The café is silent tonight. One customer, a regular, sits in the back corner with a coffee and a muffin and a book, but all the other tables are empty, already wiped down for the evening, with Ingrid keen to get out of the shop as soon as she can. The one customer doesn’t seem perturbed by the staff’s antics, her eyes on her book. Felix thinks she looks vaguely familiar when he checks up on her, but can’t place where he knows her from.

Dedue emerges from the kitchen, and Ingrid follows, turning the light off. It’s only half an hour to close, and while they’re not usually that busy on a Friday night, it’s unusual how quiet it is. Most customers at this time of night aren’t even in for coffee – it’s usually just hot chocolates or teas or baked goods. They’re well known for their baked goods – Dedue is the best baker in the city, Ingrid asserts.

The bell above the door tinkles, indicating another customer. Ingrid looks up with glee, until she realises that it’s just Sylvain and her face falls again. He saunters up to the counter, dripping from the rain. He leans against it, humming over the menu, his eyes falling to Ingrid, who continues to glare at him.

“If you’re not going to order anything, you can leave,” she says, and he grins.

“One filter coffee, please.”  
  
“Cheapskate,” she mumbles, but nods to Felix to make it for him anyway. “Pay up.”  
  
“Busy night?” He asks, passing a handful of change to Ingrid, who just rolls her eyes.

“It has been like this all night,” Dedue says. “We don’t know why.”  
  
“Everyone’s downtown. Strike Force are playing at Shambhala. Literally everyone is there,” Sylvain appears, moving to the other end of the counter.

“Ugh, of course. You lot need to be making better music so that you can steal customers from downtown,” Ingrid mutters under her breath.

“We make good music, thank you very much,” Felix points out as he passes Sylvain his coffee.

“We’re nowhere as popular as Strike Force, though,” Sylvain says, leaning against the end of the counter.

“That can be changed,” Ingrid points out, “if you work harder. You both talk about how much you enjoy the band, but neither of you put any effort in.”  
  
“Hey, I write all the songs,” Sylvain defends, “there would be no band without me.”

“Okay, but you never practice drums. Ever.”  
  
“There’s no room in the apartment, Ingrid, you know this. Besides, I have a full time job, as does Felix.”  
  
“Felix has no space issues, though. His apartment has plenty of room.”  
  
“Every time I practice, I get a noise complaint because next door are like a million years old even though they’re like five years older than us. They also have really loud sex against my wall all the time, so it’s not like they’re innocent,” Felix says, making a grab for his phone out of Ingrid’s apron pocket. He misjudges and grabs her phone, and glares at her when she forces him to put it back.

“You should just have really loud sex against their wall instead, Felix. That would be revenge enough, never mind the guitar playing,” Sylvain says with a grin.

“No.”  
  
“When was the last time you got laid?”  
  
“Alright I do not want to hear about this. We’re closing early tonight. Dedue, do you want to help me with the tills?” Ingrid says, looking desperately at him.

“Of course.”

The two scarper, tills in hand, out the back once again this time in the direction of the office. Sylvain’s eyes flicker over to the woman in the corner and back again to Felix, the grin on his face widening.

“Hey, isn’t that the bassist for Golden Deer?”

“Oh, yeah. I thought I recognised her.”  
  
“Well, talk to her. She’s hot.”  
  
“You talk to her, if you think she’s hot. She’s not my type.”

“Felix, come on. You’ve been so… tense lately. Go on.”  
  
“If I go over there, it’s to kick her out because we’re closing,” Felix spits.

“You know,” the woman calls, not looking up from her book, “it’s not polite to talk about people behind their back.”  
  
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop either,” Sylvain counters.  
  
“I’m not interested in Felix, so you have nothing to worry about,” she says, getting up from her seat, lifting her bag, and pulling her hood up to protect against the rain. “Neither am I interested in you, Sylvain.” Her book gets tucked away, her reading glasses following them.  
  
“I don’t want to date you,” Felix says lamely.

“I gathered that. Though I’m glad I came here tonight. Blue Lions having issues with not being able to practice? Their place of work losing money due to Strike Force? Very interesting indeed!”  
  
“Are you spying on us?” Sylvain asks, suspicion clear in his expression.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Ingrid makes very good coffee. I’m Claude’s right hand woman, and anything that could potentially net him more audience members is good information.” She blinks sweetly, sticking out her hand. “Hilda Valentine Goneril. I hope you don’t forget it.”  
  
Sylvain shakes her hand, confused by the gesture, and finds himself staring after her when she leaves. He turns to Felix with a grimace, watching as Felix unties his apron, folding it over his arm.

“We’re fucked.”  
  
“We need to get Ingrid to book us more gigs,” Sylvain agrees. We’re never going to make it in the business if even Claude is sending people to see what we’re up to.”  
  
“Well, at least she knew our names.”  
  


* * *

_@Dorothea_Soprano:  
  
Great gig tonight guys! Thanks everyone for turning out! Keep an eye on our twitter, we have some very exciting news coming up soon!  
  
@TakeMeOut replied:_

_Are you single_

_@Dorothea_Soprano replied:_

_Are you rich?_

_@TakeMeOut replied:_

_No :(_

* * *

The Seiros FM building is large and intimidating from the outside, and the lobby is too, with glass doors and polished marble floors. However the live studios are cosy, each decorated with a little of their inhabitants’ personality. There’s a framed photo of a family with green hair atop a filing cabinet, a string of fish shaped fairy lights, and a bouquet of flowers that’s replaced every few days.

Today however, Seiros FM’s newest recruit (and the guilty party with regards to odd fairy lights) takes up a different recording studio – one with a large glass partition to let her see the people inhabiting the other side. They have a little time before Byleth’s show begins for set up – for her to check that the sound levels are okay, that everything is going to go according to plan.

Strike Force look uncomfortable in the cramped space – clearly used to bigger recording studios, one on one sessions, and large stages. Still, they manage to get everything sorted – instruments plugged in, facing the glass with a smile on most of their faces. From what Byleth knows about the bassist, Hubert, there is no chance that he can force a smile for any of this session.

“Hey guys,” she greets, pressing a button on her keyboard to let them hear her speak. “Can you all hear me? I’ll be able to hear you all just fine, so don’t worry about that. How are you all today?”

“Doing just fine,” Edelgard responds. “We’re very grateful for this opportunity, Byleth. Thank you for having us on tonight.”  
  
“No worries. I enjoy your music.”  
  
It is as simple as that – every Thursday night she plays the music of local bands for an hour. She had only worked at the station for a few weeks, but the show already had become the most popular weekly slot, and Byleth’s idea to spotlight those breaking out in the local music scene was praised by every single one of the higher ups, including the CEO herself.

During the week, she had visited Strike Force at rehearsal and recorded a few of their songs. Today, they’ll play a song live at the end of the show, which will be interspersed with interviews with all five bandmates, time allowing. And Byleth does enjoy their music, as well as that of the other bands that she had interviewed. Byleth was always on the lookout for talent, and there was plenty of it in Garreg Mach City.

“We just need to do a quick sound check so that I know the levels are right for during the show. So… Caspar, first, please. Give me say ten bars?”  
  
With a grin, the blue haired man lifts his sticks and bashes out something that can only be described as loud. Byleth knows what to do to turn loud into good however, moving sliders up and down on her desk to balance the sound.

“Hubert next, please.”

Without a muscle moving in his face in recognition of her words, Hubert moves the neck of his instrument to a more comfortable position and begins to play, haunting low notes of a song Byleth isn’t sure she recognises. But that’s easy to place too, and next she signals for Ferdinand to begin. His keyboard skills aren’t the best – Edelgard warned her of that before – but he seems to be doing a good enough job. It’s a synthesiser more than a keyboard really – adding whatever string or brass sounds that they need for particular songs.

“Alright, thank you. Edelgard?”  
  
Edelgard’s Stratocaster is black with a holographic pickguard – clearly modified, but a very nice guitar indeed. She holds it like she was born holding a guitar, the ease in her stance and the way her fingers move over the fretboard. And the confidence in her playing is clear to Byleth as she moves the level of the mic from the amp. She’s not the best guitarist in the world, but there’s no question that she’s the best in Garreg Mach City, at least that’s currently active.

“And Dorothea, please,” Byleth says. “Just keep going until I tell you to stop.”

Getting the vocals right is always the trickiest part – a combination of vocalists not all having the same vocal level and not always having a consistent tone throughout a song. Dorothea’s voice is clear though, and Byleth has to wonder if this is really the sort of singing that she wants to be doing. Her voice is more suited for theatre – she files this away as a potential question for later.

“Thanks,” Byleth calls through. “And could you play altogether now?”

Edelgard counts them in – clearly, she’s in charge. Their sound is what Byleth finds most interesting about them – they seem to be carving out their own genre – something that mixes rock, metal, pop, musical theatre and the aesthetic of being a vampire into one band, and somehow that works. Dorothea’s vocals cut through the cacophony behind her, haunting yet somehow soothing at the same time. They’re going to go far, Byleth knows. They’re filling a gap in the market, though she’s not sure how she would market them if it were up to her.

“Great, thanks everyone. We’re on in ten so just hold tight. I’m turning all your microphones off so you can talk but don’t be too loud when we’re on air. Dorothea, you’ll be up first for the interview.”

The band nod in agreement. Byleth swings back on her chair. As fun as this all is, and as amazing it is to bring home a paycheque every week doing something she loves, it’s still exhausting. She hasn’t quite managed to find a balance in all the things she needs to do to prepare for each show, and it doesn’t help that some of the people she works with are inconsistent.

Strike Force seem well aware that they’re still trying to make it – there’s a huge difference in being confident in your abilities and thinking you’re already famous. As she studies them through the glass, a smile forms on her face – they remind her of herself not that long ago, when she was determined to be a musician.

That hadn’t worked out because no one would pay attention to a tiny girl who always dyed her hair, with a guitar that was a hand-me-down (though still in working condition). Every “guitarist wanted” advert she responded to told her to her face they weren’t looking for a girl and eventually she gave up, disheartened by rejection. That was until the guitarist in her father’s band dropped out, and she was quick to step up to the plate, the only other person to know all their songs off by heart.

Ashen Demon was a strange phenomenon – a band full of older men with one teenage girl. And she was good, that was what shocked people. But that shock factor got people to sit up and pay attention, and got audiences to come back time and time again. Their popularity grew and grew, and it wasn’t long before they moved out of local bars and music clubs and onto proper stages.

They broke up last year, due to some of their members’ ill health. That’s when Byleth started applying for other jobs, eventually landing the one at Seiros FM. The CEO was a fan of Ashen Demon, and that was enough for her pitch in the contest to win your own radio show to be the one selected. It’s a whole week’s work for an hour on a Thursday evening, but Byleth wouldn’t trade it for the world.

She slides her headphones on, signalling to Dorothea to come in and take a seat at the opposite mic. There’s two minutes to go, so she clicks through everything, making sure both mics are on, ready to go. There’s the tail end of advertising, a painstaking wait, and then the silence that indicates that she’s ready to go. The first song plays, one of Strike Force’s more metal songs. Byleth catches Dorothea nodding along and mouthing the words, and she can feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The song fades out, and Byleth turns to the mic.

“Hello everyone, my name is Byleth Eisner, and you’re listening to an hour of the finest talent in Garreg Mach’s local music scene. You just heard Carpe Diem by Strike Force, a local band headed up by Dorothea Arnault, who I have with me in the studio right now. Dorothea, tell us a little bit about the band.”

“Well, the whole thing was Edelgard’s idea. She’s been playing music forever. It was one of those open audition affairs – they had keyboards, guitar and bass, and were looking for singers and drummers. I’d just graduated university and was looking for any and all singing work. So I gave it a go, and Edelgard said she really liked my voice!”  
  
“You do have one of the most unique voices out of all the bands I’ve interviewed so far. You say you graduated from university – was that related?”  
  
“Yes! I studied musical theatre at GMU, actually, as did Ferdinand. That’s how I heard about everything in the first place.”  
  
Dorothea talks like a natural, making conversation between them easy. Byleth keeps an eye on the time, but interviewing Dorothea for slightly longer than intended is fine, especially as she doesn’t think she’ll get much out of Hubert. She plays another song, flicking the switch for Dorothea’s mic off, and beckoning Edelgard to come through. Despite her stature, Edelgard still cuts an imposing figure, and Byleth can’t help but feel intimidated by the younger woman.

“I hope you all enjoyed that song, I know I enjoyed helping them record it last week. Next up we have Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

“Lovely to be here.”  
  
“So you put all this together, then. And you’re doing well, I hear. What was your vision for the band when you started out?”  
  
“At first, in the band’s very purest form, it was just myself, Hubert and Ferdinand. I can’t sing at all, and Ferdinand kept insisting his voice wasn’t right for what we were trying out. That was just for fun, at the time. But we sort of knew at the time that we were onto something good, and as Dorothea said, we held auditions to fill more roles, and here we are. I wanted the fun of playing in a band, the rush of performing live. It would be nice to eventually live off the money we make eventually, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”  
  
“And you work for radio too, don’t you?” Byleth asks. This question was a special request from the CEO herself – apparently, this is something that their listeners will want to know.

“Yes. Hubert, Ferdinand and I are all employees of Eagles Radio, which operates just across town.”  
  
“You set it up two years ago, am I right? What’s it like balancing live music and a desk job?”  
  
“Being high up, I can usually manage my time accordingly, though more than once I’ve been interrupted in the middle of rehearsal for phone calls.” Edelgard laughs, but her words sound practiced, well-rehearsed. Like she knew that Byleth would ask about this.  
  
“I understand the struggle between nine to five and practice well,” Byleth says, trying to get her back on side. “We’re going to play another song now, one of your favourites. Do you want to tell us about it?”  
  
“This is one of the very first songs that we wrote, and the first song that I wrote a proper solo for. It’s my favourite for that very reason. This is Crepusculum.”

Byleth hits play on the song, and turns the mics off. Edelgard sets her headphones on the desk, and regards Byleth with a strange look in your eyes.

“Why did you ask the question about my radio?”  
  
“I ask most people about their jobs,” Byleth says honestly.

“Did Rhea ask you to say that specifically?”  
  
“Yes, why?”  
  
“She knows that we’re in direct competition with her. Eagles Radio grows every day, gaining more and more regular listeners. I understand that you’re just her employee, but I don’t appreciate probing questions like that. Of course, we’ll finish the show tonight, but don’t expect Strike Force to be back.”  
  
Her word was final, it seemed, as she left the room, heading back into the recording studio. She perches on her amp, and signals for Ferdinand to head in. Thankfully, he and Caspar are a lot more cooperative, and their interviews go on without a hitch. During the last pre-recorded song, Byleth asks if Hubert wants to say a few words, but as suspected, he has no intentions of saying anything.

“Thank you to all five members of Strike Force for coming out tonight, and I’m sorry to our listeners that we weren’t able to get to Hubert for a few words. You can find the band at all the usual places – they’re on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and YouTube, and you’ll be able to catch them live this Friday at Fódlan’s Fangs. Now, to play us out, here are Strike Force live at Seiros FM, with a new song, Praemonitus Praemunitus.”

The song is good, Byleth acknowledges, sipping long cold tea as she enjoys this performance. Strike Force have a certain amount of charisma that intrigues her – more so than most of the bands she’s had on the show. Maybe it was Edelgard’s warning, or maybe it was just their sound, but Byleth finds herself drawn into their music with every note.

“You guys were great,” Byleth says weakly as they file out. Edelgard and Hubert don’t say a word, merely nodding courteously. The other three are more willing to stay and chat for a minute, offering Byleth free tickets to their Friday show, telling her about their music. The band certainly is charming, each in their own individual way, but Byleth has her suspicions about the guitarist and her right-hand man.

* * *

_@MarianneVonE:_  
  
Wonderful show tonight on @SeirosFM from @StrikeForceBand! So lovely to hear local music of all genres being represented on Byleth’s show.

_@INeedANap:_

_Hilarious that Edelgard shot down that radio question tonight I can’t believe I got to hear that with my own ears_

_@Ferdinand57:_

_:D_


	2. Rocket Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one person at the counter currently, and so she stands a respectable distance back, perusing the menu. Thankfully, there are a range of foods on there that she likes the sound of. She mentally practices what she’s going to say – one cheese, tomato and pesto sandwich, toasted, and a small latte. The words almost disappear from her mind when she sets her sights forward and spots who is in the line in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello.... please check the first chapter notes again if you're reading this like. live. bc I forgot that I made playlists and they're there now!! :)

“And that’s all from me today here at Alliance Sounds, on what appears to be a sunny Wednesday here in Garreg Mach. I hope you all have a wonderful day, and enjoy the next few hours from Ignatz Victor.”

Marianne presses the button for the in between advertisements, and turns her mic off with a sigh. Doing these afternoon shows has been fun, but they always leave her surprisingly tired. As she tidies her space, her mind wanders to what to do for dinner. There isn’t much food in her apartment, and while it would be cheaper to stop off at the supermarket and do some proper shopping, her stomach protests. Dinner first, shopping second.

Pulling on her coat and slinging her bag over her shoulder, Marianne bids a quiet goodbye to the rest of the team at the radio. It’s raining once again, so she pulls her umbrella from her bag too, protecting her hair from the rain as she makes her way into the night. Claude always says it’s not safe for her to walk home at night from the station, and if he’s about, he’ll always offer to walk her home, despite the fact that he lives nowhere near her.

She could take public transport, but buses are scarce in the evenings, and her apartment isn’t on the same bus route as her work. She would have to take one in the direction of the centre of town, and then get another bus out again. It’s a whole lot of hassle and extra money when she could just walk –and that’s good for her health. On nights like this though, Marianne sometimes wishes she had a car of her own.

As the rain gets heavier, she decides that it’s best to give up for now, and ducks into the first café that she spots. There’s a small bell above the door that startles her a little – two pairs of eyes fall on her before looking back to their tasks. Marianne folds up her umbrella and leaves it by the door.

Thankfully for her, the café is relatively empty. Most of the tables are free – good, as she’s considering spending a good while in here while she waits for the rain to pass over a bit. Her feet are already wet, with the added horror of having to walk the rest of the way home with wet socks really not appealing to her.

There is one person at the counter currently, and so she stands a respectable distance back, perusing the menu. Thankfully, there are a range of foods on there that she likes the sound of. She mentally practices what she’s going to say – one cheese, tomato and pesto sandwich, toasted, and a small latte. The words almost disappear from her mind when she sets her sights forward and spots who is in the line in front of her.

Linhardt von Hevring finishes placing his order. Marianne tries not to gasp – he is one of the broadcasters for Eagles Radio. His shows are always interesting, even if Marianne doesn’t catch most of them. She only recognises him from his Instagram – she follows most of the local broadcasters on there. It’s networking, she thinks, but when it comes to the man in front of her, she does admit that his feed itself is very nice to look at.

He shuffles out of the way, and Marianne takes his place. Linhardt stands on his phone – there’s another email from Edelgard laying out business plans that really have nothing to do with him, so he deletes and if she asks him on Saturday if he got it he’ll just pretend he has no idea what she’s talking about. He slides his phone back into his pocket, glancing around him at the café. The woman in front of him in the line looks vaguely familiar, the smile on the blonde cashier’s face forced and the dark-haired barista not even making an effort to look like he wants to be there.

The woman speaks, just her order, and yet Linhardt has to stop his mouth from falling open. This is Marianne von Edmund, who does the afternoon show on Alliance Sounds. Linhardt never misses a show, always having her calming voice on while he’s studying. Maybe that’s a little sad, but there is not one show on the air that Linhardt would rather listen to. He knows he follows her online, but her page contains mostly pictures of food and flowers and animals, and never a picture of her face.

She’s very pretty, Linhardt thinks to himself, though her voice is the most recognisable thing about her. It’s very soft, verging on timid, though she’s very well spoken and seems to have a talent with words. As Linhardt hears the familiar beep of the café’s card machine he finds himself pulled back to reality. His coffee is slammed down on the counter by the angry barista, and he takes himself into a corner, half of his attention on his book and half on Marianne.

“You haven’t been here before, have you? I recognise most of our regulars by now,” the cashier says.

“Um, no. I just stopped in to get out of the rain. I hope it’s okay to leave my umbrella by the door,” Marianne says, a little overwhelmed by how cheery this woman seems to be.

“Of course! I’d rather have that dripping by the door than you dripping all over the shop – my flatmate comes in all the time doing that, he’s a nightmare.”  
  
“Sounds terrible,” Marianne manages with a smile.

“I’m Ingrid. I hope you like your food enough to come back some time, maybe when it’s not raining! Take a seat and I’ll bring everything right over.”

With a nod, Marianne heads to find a table. Luckily, there’s one by the wall, so she sits there, and takes her damp coat. Despite it being winter, the café is warm enough to sit in just her jumper. Hopefully she dries out soon – not that it’ll make much difference, given the rain still beating heavily against the windows.

Linhardt is looking in her direction, she notices, though he’s pretending not to. She’s far too shy to say anything to him, she decides, though she’s certain they would have plenty to talk about given the similarities in their fields. Occasionally, their glances in each other’s directions will coincide, and after the fourth time this happens, Marianne works up the courage to smile to him.

He practically beams back at her, and a little part of her is relieved that that definitely is Linhardt, and he must also know who she is. She turns her attention away from him, embarrassed, paying more attention to the sandwich that she’s been brought (it’s very nice, she notes, so she must have to stop by in here again now she knows that it’s close to the station).

The rain begins to ease, and sensing an opportunity, Marianne puts her coat back on and lifts her bag, mumbling a small thank you to Ingrid on her way out that’s returned with twice as much enthusiasm. She lifts her umbrella, and braves the rain once more, this time concentrating more on tomorrow night’s dinner than today’s.

* * *

_@HildasFashion:_

_Y’all better be at the show tomorrow! I’ve actually practiced this week!  
  
@GoldenDeer replied: _

_You’re supposed to practice every day._

_@OrdeliaMusic:_

_These amateurs think they only have to practice once a week… if that…_

_@HildasFashion replied:  
  
You’re not even in the band! _

* * *

Claude jerks the curtain back, peering around the dark fabric into the crowded bar. He’s looking for one person in particular this evening, but his eyes spot everyone but his target. Blue Lions stand at the bar, all three members and Ingrid in tow, and Marianne is here, setting up her microphone in front of the stage. She catches his eye, and gives a little wave. Claude is quick to wave back.

His mark walks in through the door at that moment – well over six feet tall, dark hair, hunched shoulders. He’s not entirely subtle, if that’s what he’s going for. Hubert von Vestra stalks over to the bar, glaring at Blue Lions who are already making a lot of noise due to a very drunk Sylvain. With a roll of his eyes, Claude turns back to his band.

“Hubert’s here.”  
  
“Of course he is,” Hilda says with a pop of her bubblegum.

“Why?” Lorenz asks.

“Because he likes to intimidate people. All for the sake of her majesty, Edelgard. He wants their band to be the one to make it big, and none of the rest of us can see that spotlight at all,” Claude explains.

“Go out there and prove him wrong,” Lysithea says, not looking up from her phone. “If he has something to say after the show, then you haven’t done a good enough job.”  
  
“He always has something to say,” Leonie is quick to point out. She twirls a drumstick through her fingers, her usual smirk on her face.

“Beat him up in the back alley,” Hilda says to Leonie, and there isn’t a hint of a joke in her voice.

“You know I could take him. He may be tall, but he’s just bones. I reckon you could push him over and he’d shatter his spine.”

“Alright, enough,” Claude says, clapping his hands together. “We have a show to do, and we should not be threatening physical violence against our fellow creatives. We can slip a laxative into his whiskey after the show.”  
  
With his trademark wink to his band, Claude holds the curtain open for them to go on stage. They’re met with cheers from the audience – a humble crowd, but not embarrassingly empty. A good amount of people for a cold and rainy Friday night. Leonie takes her seat behind the drum kit, Hilda heading stage left to pick up her bass (bright pink to match her hair) and Lorenz waits on the opposite side, his guitar cradled carefully in his arms.

Lorenz and Hilda tune up while Claude waits patiently. Always one for the dramatics, he waits until everything else is ready before making his own entrance. He takes his place centre stage with an award-winning grin that’s only made bigger by the cheers of the crowd, or more specifically, Sylvain. He likes drunk Sylvain more than sober Sylvain, he decides then and there, and considers bringing him back to every show as a hype man.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and Sylvain, who has had enough to drink for the entire band already. My name is Claude von Riegan, and these are my Golden Deer. Hope you all enjoy the show tonight.”

They kick off into their first song, a groove that Hilda sets up and Lorenz takes over. Leonie’s beat completes the whole sound, and Claude’s vocals just add to that, creating the Golden Deer’s signature sound. It’s a vibe that has the whole bar joining in with their most popular songs and enjoying the newer songs with more than just a polite clap.

Claude likes playing here for that reason – the crowd are always receptive to what’s going on around them, and unlike some of the fancier joints they’ve been invited to uptown, he knows that their music will always get a good reception here. Apart from Hubert of course, who sits on his stool, facing the bartender and looking as if he’s not paying attention.

“Thanks,” Claude says with a laugh after a particularly loud round of applause. “Now, who here has heard of Strike Force?” Claude asks, keeping his eyes trained on Hubert. His shoulders tense more, if that’s even possible. Sylvain boos, and Claude can just about make out Ingrid pulling him outside by the arm. “This is one of their songs, except we’re going to do it better.”  
  
They have no keyboards, but Lorenz is determined to both prove that he’s a better guitarist than Edelgard and better than Ferdinand in all respects, so he arranged both parts into one. Leonie doesn’t have the enthusiasm of Caspar, but more technical skill, while Hilda has ten times the stage presence that Hubert has, with skills to match. And Claude is no Dorothea, but that’s what makes the song so interesting.

Claude watches Hubert carefully throughout the song. The man has cleverly positioned himself in the middle of the room, right in front of the mic. Slowly, he turns around, one arm folded across his chest, the other holding his drink up as if to say ‘cheers’. Claude’s smile grows wider at that. He has no idea what Hubert means by the gesture, but the acknowledgement is enough to set his mind to work.

He turns to Hilda for the outro, letting her pick her way through Hubert’s most complicated bassline. She doesn’t even look at her instrument, instead grinning at Claude, nodding in the direction of their special guest. With one final chord, Claude takes a step back and bows, the flick of his hair narrowly missing the microphone.

“Hope you all enjoyed that,” he murmurs into the mic. “We’ve been Claude and the Golden Deer. See you soon!”

Instead of heading off the back of the stage where he came on, Claude jumps off the front and into the bar. Many people offer their congratulations on a good show, to which he just smiles and moves on. He’s making a beeline for Hubert, who still sits with his arms folded on the stool, looking every bit like a human sized bat.

“Enjoy that?” Claude asks, leaning beside the man.

“Simply wonderful,” Hubert drawls. “Your music taste is certainly… eclectic.”  
  
“I could say the same for your band. Edelgard writes most, but it’s Dorothea’s songs that are the best. They have the emotion, you know? But I suppose you don’t actually. I’ve never seen Mr. Vestra with a single facial expression in my life.”  
  
“You do not know me, Claude von Riegan. But I’d appreciate if you never covered our music again.”  
  
“Oh, we don’t like your band. We think you suck,” Claude tells him honestly, with a slap on the back.

“Damn straight,” calls Felix from further along the bar. Blue Lions aren’t great either in Claude’s opinion, but he appreciates the back up.

“Pray tell, why did you cover our most popular song, then? If we ‘suck’ so badly?”  
  
“Because it annoys you, dearest Hubert.”

* * *

_Byleth Eisner_

_byletheisner@seiros.fm_

_TO: bluelions@fodlan.mail_

_CC: hr@seiros.fm_

_Hi Blue Lions,_

_This is Byleth Eisner from Seiros FM. Hope this email reaches you well._

_As you may know, I run a show on a Thursday night spotlighting local bands and their music. I was at one of your gigs last week and really enjoyed some of your songs. I’d love to get you on the show in the coming weeks._

_I’ll come out to wherever you rehearse and help you record some of your stuff, and then on your scheduled day you’ll come into the station to play live and have a chat with me._

_I couldn’t find any contact information for your manager, so please pass this along to them if you have one._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Byleth Eisner_

_[Seiros FM accepts no liability for any viruses transmitted by this email. If this email was sent to you by mistake, please delete it at your earliest convenience.]_


	3. I Predict A Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” she says, a mouth full of pizza just like Sylvain, “I got this email.”
> 
> “We all get emails, every day,” Felix points out.
> 
> “To the band account,” Ingrid clarifies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is by [Ribbon!](https://twitter.com/Ribbon_nyao/status/1349348720484044801?s=19)

Sylvain and Ingrid’s apartment is tiny – two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, and one living room, all cramped into an impossibly small space. Dimitri doesn’t understand how they have all their things in such a small space, while Felix doesn’t understand how they haven’t killed each other yet.

Blue Lions’ rehearsal space is booked out most of the time, and they’re lucky to even get a slot. All their band meetings are held in this apartment, usually with pizza. Tonight’s meeting was called by Ingrid, but the woman in question isn’t even home when Felix arrives. She’s on close tonight, he’s aware, but she also seems to be taking her time coming home.

“What’s this about, then?” Felix asks.

“No idea,” Sylvain replies. “I haven’t even seen Ingrid all day, since I left before she was awake. Got the text at lunch, same time as you two. She said she’ll be home soon, though.”  
  
“I’m guessing she booked us a gig or something,” Dimitri offers, fiddling with the hem of his eyepatch.

“If it was just that, she would have texted. She’s probably resigning,” Sylvain says through a mouthful of pizza.

“Do you have no manners?” Dimitri sighs, taking a slice of pizza for himself.

“I live with Ingrid,” Sylvain says with a shrug, “and she has no manners when it comes to eating.”

“At least she cleans up after herself,” Felix adds, screwing up his nose. “You’re just disgusting.”  
  
“Your words wound me so.”

From outside the apartment, there’s a soft jingle of keys, and then the click of the lock, signifying that Ingrid has arrived home. She sticks her head into the living room, giving a wave to Dimitri and Felix, before heading down the corridor to her room.

“Late to her own meeting, and I don’t even get a kiss,” Sylvain calls. There’s a pause, then the tell-tale stomp of Ingrid’s boots back along the corridor.

“I don’t know how many times you’ve told that joke, but it’s still not funny.”

Then she’s gone again, reappearing a few minutes later out of her uniform and in her own clothes. She pushes Sylvain out of the way when he blocks her path to the pizza, which is verging on cold at this point.

“So,” she says, a mouth full of pizza just like Sylvain, “I got this email.”  
  
“We all get emails, every day,” Felix points out.  
  
“To the band account,” Ingrid clarifies. “I replied already saying that I am the manager of the band, and I’ll get back to them with an answer accordingly. But the email was from Seiros FM.”  
  
“From work?” Sylvain asks. “Wait, is it a complaint?”  
  
“No. Should there be something to complain about?” Ingrid asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Not at all.”  
  
“Anyway, it’s from the producer of that new Thursday night show. You know the one we listened to the other week?” She asks, this time directed at Felix.

“With Underground on it?”  
  
“Yes. And Strike Force were on it a few weeks ago to. Apparently, the producer was at the show last week, and she liked your stuff. She wants you on the show.”

“Seriously?” Sylvain asks, almost dropping his pizza. “Seiros FM want us, to play on their big Thursday night show?”  
  
“Yes,” she says with a nod. “We’ll have to work out the logistics of the whole thing, but it sounds like we invite this producer to your rehearsals, she records your stuff, and puts it on air. Then you go in on Thursday and talk to her live, and play something live for the show.”  
  
“And you didn’t immediately say yes?” Dimitri asks. “Why?”  
  
“I wasn’t sure if it was really your thing. You play in small clubs and bars – that’s what you ask me to book for you. Most of the offers you get are for slightly bigger small clubs and bars, and half of them you turn down because they’re not your scene,” Ingrid points out.  
  
“But this is the big time. Besides, it’s like, one live song,” Sylvain says. “And I’ve seen the producer about. She’s the weirdest person at the station, I swear. Having a conversation with her will be so easy – we just have to do all the talking.”

“Felix?” Ingrid says, noticing that the band’s guitarist hadn’t really said a word on the matter.

“I don’t want to talk to someone on the radio. Sounds stupid.”  
  
“She’s really pretty,” Sylvain says, as if that’s going to change Felix’s opinion one bit.

“And?”  
  
“I have nothing else. I’ve never spoken to the woman, she’s not in my office. But this could be good for the band!”  
  
“It will be good for the band,” Dimitri agrees. “I’m a little hesitant about the interview section myself, but I think we’ll manage just fine.”

“At least half the population of Garreg Mach City listen to the show, Felix,” Ingrid says, gently trying to convince Felix that this is probably the biggest opportunity on the horizon, and if they don’t take it, there won’t be another one for a while. 

“If I don’t have to talk on the radio, it’s fine. I can play, but no more than that.”  
  
“I’ll ask if that’s okay. I’m sure Seiros FM will be able to meet that request,” Ingrid says, a grin forming on her face as she pulls out her phone to respond to the email. “When are you all free? We need to book the rehearsal space now, so we can tell this woman when to meet us?”  
  
“I’m free all evenings,” Sylvain says.  
  
“As am I,” Dimitri seconds.

“You make my rota,” Felix points out, his usual scowl on his face.

“We’re both off close next Tuesday, if that sounds reasonable?” Ingrid asks. She looks around the room for objections, and finds none. “Sylvain, is the space available?”  
  
“I doubt it,” he laughs, “it’s been booked solid for months.” Ingrid watches him out of the corner of her eye as he flicks through screens on his phone. “Nope, unavailable. The earliest we can get in is a month away.”  
  
“Book the slot anyway, it’ll do you good. You don’t practice enough as a group.” With no real response to that, Sylvain shrugs and puts their information in, locking in the room as theirs for the night. “If you want to do well on this show, you have to practice more between now and then. I know it’s not long, but seriously. We need to find somewhere for you to get together as a group.”

“Unfortunately, my apartment isn’t soundproof,” Dimitri offers, “and I do not want to annoy my neighbours.”  
  
“I would love to annoy my neighbours, but I don’t want to pay another fine,” Felix says.  
  
“Another fine?”  
  
“I paid it,” he says with a shrug. “I could ask my dad, though.”  
  
“Ooh, going to the Fraldarius manor,” Sylvain laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you hated that place, and him.”  
  
“We need somewhere to practice, and somewhere to record. My dad will love us being there, and we can use the basement.”  
  
“If you’re okay with that, I can give her the address,” Ingrid asks, and waits patiently for Felix to nod his consent. “Alright. You can sort out rehearsals and set lists between yourselves. But be at Felix’s old house on Tuesday as early as possible. I want to hear you in action before the radio turn up.”

Dimitri excuses himself for the evening, and Felix follows shortly after, having confirmed with Rodrigue that they can use the house. As expected, the man was more than enthusiastic about the idea, and the phone call involved lots of eye rolling from Felix. Soon, it’s just Sylvain and Ingrid left in the apartment. This is normal – this is where they live, after all. But it always feels so strange and empty after the other two leave.

Sylvain glances over at Ingrid, tapping her foot to some imaginary beat, fingers furiously typing out their email thanking the producer for the opportunity and telling her their availability. A smile crosses his face, and quickly falls when Ingrid turns around and glares at him. He pretends to look elsewhere, but continues to watch her out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

_@MarianneVonE:  
  
I’ll have a special guest on tomorrow’s show! Please tune in to hear from @HildasFashion, the bass player of Claude and the Golden Deer_

_@INeedANap replied:  
  
I certainly will. I never miss any of your shows._

_@MarianneVonE replied:  
  
Thank you :)_

* * *

There are a number of cafés in the city that Linhardt frequents. He’s a coffee person, but that’s probably also because he sleeps more than anyone else he’s ever met. The coffee helps keep him awake in the hours that he designates for his studies during the day – otherwise, he knows there’s a very large possibility that he would sleep for twenty-four hours a day.

He’s fallen asleep at work too, and thankfully has avoided reprimand every time it’s happened, because his Saturday morning listeners find it endearing (he finds them ridiculous). Usually, he wakes up late, and doesn’t have the time to get a coffee before his show starts, hence the sleeping on the job.

Wednesday’s café of choice is uptown, but doesn’t feel at all upmarket. Perhaps that’s why he likes it – it’s fairly close to the station, but not close enough for him to bump into any of his colleagues. One time, he spotted Ferdinand at the counter, and made a swift escape to the bathroom so he didn’t have to make small talk with the receptionist. He’s far too friendly, Linhardt thinks.

It’s quiet enough in here, but not too silent. A good balance of background noise is needed for proper study, not that Linhardt does anything that really constitutes proper study. He has a textbook and a notebook and a few pens in front of him, but he mostly reads the textbook and then finds semi-related journal articles on the internet.

Every time the bell above the door jingles, he looks up. That Wednesday a few weeks ago, he spotted Marianne von Edmund in here, and while this is his usual Wednesday spot, he hopes desperately for her to come in again. Logically, the chances of that are slim. But the part of him that absorbs himself in her work every week wonders if there is any way he’ll ever get to speak to her.

He sits in the café for three hours, watching as the morning shift people rotate in with the afternoon people. He doesn’t recognise any of these afternoon people, but orders another coffee anyway, as it’s the polite thing to do. The morning people’s coffee was better, but he keeps that to himself.

When the bell rings above the door for what must be at least the fiftieth time that day, Linhardt looks up again. This time, it is Marianne von Edmund, looking a little flustered, clutching the lapels of her coat, balancing a large bag against her hip. Her eyes scan the staff, and seems to deflate a little. Nevertheless, she places her order, and glances around the room.

Linhardt sees this as his chance. He gathers his courage, disappeared somewhere after she walked in. He waves, catching her attention. She waves back, a small smile appearing on her face. He gestures to the seat in front of him. She hesitates for a second, before nodding. She waits where she is for her coffee for a moment longer while he attempts to clear space for her.

“Nice to meet you,” he says when she settles down beside him.

“You too. Linhardt, right? From Eagles Radio?”  
  
“Indeed. I’m surprised you recognise me.”  
  
“I follow you on Instagram,” she admits somewhat sheepishly, “so I do know what you look like. Oh, I’m Marianne, by the way.”

“I know. I do really listen to your show every day. That wasn’t a joke.”  
  
“I’m glad! I Put a lot of effort into the show. It’s a lot of extra hours that don’t go noticed, often.”

“Oh, I understand completely. It may not sound like I put effort into my show, but I usually spend Thursday and Friday writing Saturday and Sunday’s shows, all day.”  
  
“I have tuned in for one or two of your on-air naps,” Marianne says with a smile.

“I like to think of them as part of the creative process, you know?”  
  
“Very much so,” she agrees, trying her best to stifle a laugh. “How did you get into broadcasting, anyway?”

“Took a few classes in community college about journalism, then a few on broadcasting. I have too many interests to commit to doing a proper degree in any of them. I’d just get bored,” Linhardt says with a yawn.

“Oh, sounds nice. And what about the Eagles Radio gig? I’ve heard… so much about them recently.”  
  
“It’s only a few hours a week, so they weren’t looking for massive experience. I’ve been with them right from the start, actually, before I graduated high school. I went to the same school as their CEO, Edelgard von Hresvelg, but she was… two years above me. I think.”

“Wonderful,” Marianne says with a constrained smile.  
  
“And you?”  
  
“I have a degree in broadcast production from GMU.”  
  
“Impressive.”  
  
“I’ve been working at Alliance Sounds for two years now. Hopefully, a job comes up soon at Seiros FM that doesn’t require too much experience so I can get my foot in the door there. I’ve always wanted to work for them.”  
  
“Hm, interesting. Not want to work for Eagles Radio? We’re becoming more popular, so I’ve heard.”  
  
“Nothing wrong with your station. You just have to aim for the top. Not that I’m unhappy where I am, of course…”

“Understandable,” Linhardt says. “You cover all that live music stuff too, right?”  
  
“Sort of. I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Marianne admits. “I work for Claude, so he can kinda tell me what to do, since it’s his station and his band that I record. They’re good, though. Well, I think so anyway. I’m not massively into music, just the normal amount, I suppose.”  
  
“That’s fair enough. I think I’m contractually obliged to say that Strike Force is the best band locally. Edelgard has ears everywhere, and she’ll probably kill me if I say anything on the contrary.”

“They’re not bad,” Marianne agrees. She sips at her coffee, realising with dismay that it’s already began to chill despite the conversation not being that long.   
  
“What do you think of that show on Seiros FM on a Thursday, though? It’s full of drama, right?”  
  
“Mhm. Byleth has such an ear for music – given her background, it makes sense. But she’s too awkward behind the mic to make full use of what she’s good at,” Marianne says, suddenly more confident now that she can analyse someone else’s work. “She asks questions that are maybe not entirely appropriate for on-air interviews, and often lets guests carry the conversation, rather than involving herself in it too. But I think the bands she picks and the sound quality make up for it. It’s a good show, all in all.”  
  
“You’ve really thought about this,” Linhardt says with a laugh.

“You’ve got to know what to do and what not to do in the business. I try to listen to as much as I can, so that I can learn effectively. I’m not huge on Radio Moon, but one of their presenters, I think Mercedes, is the exact opposite of Byleth. She plays atrocious music! But she’s so lovely. I think we would get along well if we were to meet in real life.”

“Do you think we’re getting on well?” Linhardt asks her, eyes locking directly onto hers.

“Um, yes,” she answers, after a pause. “But… I have to go. I, uh, didn’t plan on staying for this long.”  
  
She drains her coffee, and gets to her feet, lifting her bag once again.

“It really was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully we will again, at some point.”  
  
“Oh, of course. Safe travels.”  
  
She gives him a little wave as she disappears out the door, leaving Linhardt feeling thoroughly deflated. They were getting along so well, but because he is apparently totally inept at conversation, he made her uncomfortable. Perhaps they’d have another meeting sometime, as she said. And perhaps it was time to stop coming by this shop on a Wednesday.

* * *

_@TakeMeOut:  
  
_ _Some exciting stuff coming up soon! If you don’t follow @BlueLionsBand what are you doing?!  
  
@FHFraldarius:  
  
Imagine having to go home to have band rehearsal because you all live in tiny flats and cant afford decent rehearsal spaces and arent allowed to annoy your neighbours_

_@TakeMeOut replied:_

_Rodrigue’s going to love it! :D_

_@FHFraldarius replied:_  
  
The worst part is youre right


	4. Mr Brightside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Teach me guitar,” he all but demands as she tidies the guitar and bass mics back into their box.
> 
> “No,” she says simply.
> 
> “Why not?”
> 
> “You already know how to play guitar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wrote part of this chapter in September 2019! This is definitely an outlier usually if I have an idea I write the whole thing in one go lol I just didn't think anyone would want to read this

Byleth always has hated driving to places where she doesn’t know where she’s going. Usually, her recording sessions are somewhere in the city, and all she has to do is google the bus route the location is on and then she has a vague idea of where she’s going. But of course, Blue Lions have to be awkward about things, and send her to a place that’s quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

She’s really only been on the road for twenty minutes, but it feels like it’s been hours. And it’s dark too, what with winter still having its grip on Fódlan. At least it’s not quite cold enough for the roads to be icy, she thinks, but she’s still not too happy about having to drive out here.

Eventually, her Sat Nav gives her another direction, and she turns onto a road that has some farm buildings on it. Her destination will be on her left in a mile, apparently. This road is at least well lit, and Byleth doesn’t feel like she’s about to go careening into a field, killing herself and possibly some sheep too.

She lets out a low whistle when the Sat Nav beeps again to tell her she’s there. The house in question is huge, practically a mansion. She wonders vaguely if she’s even in the right place, but the gates are unlocked, and she manoeuvres the van up the gravel driveway, parking right outside the front door. There are a few other cars here, and out of the corner of her eye she sees a sticker of a blue lion on the window of the biggest of the three.

Grabbing her bag, Byleth walks up to the front door, and rings the doorbell. It’s only a matter of seconds before the door opens – clearly, someone’s been waiting for her. The woman in question has short blonde hair and looks vaguely familiar, and her face lights up at the sight.

“You made it! Sorry to drag you out all this way, we have nowhere to practice in the city. I’m Ingrid, the band’s manager. I’m who you’ve been talking too.” She sticks a hand out, and Byleth gratefully shakes it.

“Byleth Eisner. Hope I’m not too late.”  
  
“No worries! The boys are downstairs.”  
  
“Can you give me a hand with my gear?”  
  
Between the two of them, they carry Byleth’s bag, three boxes of microphones, cables, stands and a computer bag down to the basement, where most of it gets unceremoniously dumped at the bottom of the stairs. Ingrid opens the door with her hip, and lets Byleth into the room.

“Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee?”  
  
“Coffee would be great, thank you. Just black is fine,” Byleth answers gratefully.

She can feel more eyes on her, so she turns and offers a small wave to Blue Lions, who stand awkwardly at their instruments. As far as she’s aware, Dimitri is the lead singer, and bass player. He’s got a very odd voice, and he always sounds like he’s been through a lot – and that seems to be true, given his eyepatch. Felix is their guitarist, and this is the first time she’s ever seen him not scowling. He was scowling on stage at the two concerts she saw, and he’s scowling in every picture that Ingrid sent her of the band. And then there’s Sylvain on drums, who… is winking at her?

“Nice to meet you all. I want to make this as fast as possible, because driving those country roads was a terrifying experience and I’d like to calm down before I have to go to bed.”  
  
“Oh, we’re sorry about that,” Dimitri says earnestly. “We have nowhere to practice regularly in the city, and Felix’s father offered to lend us his basement specially for this.”  
  
“I appreciate that. It’s a nice space. Could you all just… step away from your instruments so I can get everything set up? Go get coffees, or whatever?”

“Any way we can help?” Dimitri asks.

“Do you know how to set up mics?” He shakes his head. “Do any of you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sylvain says, getting up from his drum stool. He’s a lot taller than Byleth expected. “Music degree, specialising in tech. And I work for Seiros.”  
  
“Oh, cool. Can you mic your own kit, then? Dynamic mics are in the big box, stands are… in the pile of stands. Sorry.”  
  
“Cables too?”  
  
“If that’s okay.”

“No problem.”

Byleth works on getting her computer set up, plugging a black box into it and opening up a program to load while she works on setting up mics for the amps. Dimitri wanders off in search of Ingrid, while Felix tails Sylvain, standing close enough to speak quietly to him and not be overheard by Byleth.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, and Sylvain raises an eyebrow.

“You think she’s hot? I definitely agree, but I will be the bigger man and-“  
  
“That’s not what I mean. She’s the second guitarist for Ashen Demon! The Byleth Eisner!” Felix hisses.

“I thought you knew that? Her name was on the email Ingrid forwarded to us, and it’s not exactly a common name.”  
  
“I didn’t put it together until I saw her. She’s literally my idol, Sylvain.”  
  
“You like her more than the other guy?”  
  
“Well, no. But I’ve always loved Ashen Demon.”  
  
“And now their guitarist is here in the flesh. You can get that poster signed! I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

As Felix storms off, Sylvain makes quick work of the mics, watching Byleth out of the corner of his eye as she carefully sets up the remaining microphones – two on either side of her to catch the whole room. He’s heard Ashen Demon’s music a lot, mostly when in the car with Felix, and he can say without a doubt that she’s one of the most talented guitarists in the country. And very pretty – a lot softer looking with her current light green hair compared to the harsh dark blue she had it dyed when she was in Ashen Demon.

Moreover, Sylvain understands how much Felix looks up to this woman. Her riffs and solos in her early stuff in Ashen Demon were Felix’s holy grail of things to play in school – Sylvain fondly remembers returning to the school for the music concert in Felix, Dimitri and Ingrid’s last year and watching Felix show everyone (bar Ingrid) up with his rendition of Ashen Demon’s song Blade Breaker.

Eventually, the other three return, and Byleth finds a spot on the floor beside her computer. She thanks Ingrid for the coffee, and clicks away on the laptop while the band get back in position. She looks up from her computer after a few minutes, with something resembling a smile on her face.

“Are we ready to go?” She asks, and receives three nods in response. “In a normal recording setting, this would be done one by one. We don’t have the time nor the space to do that, so I’m just going to have you play your songs, and I’ll get them mixed myself. Can we just have… sixteen bars, just so I can check everything is recording properly?”  
  
“Of what?” Dimitri asks.

“Just whatever.”  
  
He mumbles something to the other band members, and waits until Byleth gives the signal to count them in. Felix keeps his eyes on Byleth, watching how her eyebrows furrow as she concentrates on the screen in front of her. They stop playing, and she hits play on the recording – it’s weird to hear their own music played back to them like this. But it sounds right, even if a little unbalanced.

“Why is there so much… drums?” Felix asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“There are more drum tracks. Eight of them, in fact, to your one guitar track. That’ll be corrected in mixing, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“Don’t question the lady,” Sylvain jokes, earning a glare from Felix.

“If you’re ready to go then… we’ll record four songs, one after another. If you need to stop, take a break, redo anything, please let me know. And please tell me the names of the songs so that I can create new files for each of them.”

They begin to play, and while Dimitri and Sylvain are working in complete tandem, Felix’s playing is not quite up to the same level. There’s dropped notes, wrong notes, bad timing, and it sounds like his telecaster isn’t even in tune. With a sigh, Byleth signals for the band to stop playing, and gets up from her spot on the floor.

“Take five,” she says to Dimitri and Sylvain, and with a nod, the two leave the room, leaving Byleth and Felix alone. “Give me your guitar,” she says, and without thinking, Felix hands the instrument over to her.

She starts playing their song, stopping and starting to adjust the levels on Felix’s amp to suit herself, tuning the guitar at intervals as she goes. Her playing leaves Felix almost dumbfounded – how can she play their songs which she can only have heard a number of times before, and on a guitar she’s never played before too?

“All fixed,” she says, handing the guitar back to him. “Nervous?”  
  
“No,” he replies quickly – too quickly.

“Don’t be. I can fix your mistakes, as long as there’s not too many. You know what you’re doing, so just do what I heard you do at your gig.”

After that, each of their songs go off without a hitch, leaving the band sharing grins and laughs at the end of the session. Even Ingrid looks impressed – their rehearsal sessions over the last week haven’t gone as well as maybe they should have, and she was worried that they would completely embarrass themselves in front of Byleth. The woman in question is the only one who looks nonplussed – this is the fourteenth band she’s recorded for her show so far, and she expects this level of professionalism from her handpicked sources.

“Thanks,” she says, shutting the lid of her laptop. “That was great. You’re scheduled for next week’s show, if I remember right?”  
  
“Week after,” Ingrid supplies helpfully.

“Oh, yes. I forgot what day it is. Be there a little early – maybe come at six, so you have two hours to set up, practice in the space, and get sound checked. As long as you’re there at least half an hour early, it’s not too important.”

“We’ll see you then,” Dimitri confirms.

“Do you want a hand packing away all this stuff?” Sylvain asks.

“Oh, yes, that’d be helpful. If everyone else could just… get out of the way, that’d be helpful too.”

Sylvain begins dismantling the mics from their stands, putting them back into their box. Byleth unplugs the laptop, and starts winding up meters upon meters of cables. Dimitri and Ingrid both helpfully take themselves out of the way, Dimitri bringing his instrument upstairs, presumably to pack it away, and Ingrid collecting long empty coffee cups.

Felix stays, putting his guitar into its case as slowly as possible, watching Byleth out of the corner of his eye. She’s fully occupied with her own tasks, chatting quietly to Sylvain about something either music related or work related, Felix can’t quite tell. Once Sylvain has his mics put away, he starts dismantling the kit, Ingrid reappearing to help him transport it to the boxes upstairs. Felix sees this as an opportunity, and swoops in on Byleth.

“Teach me guitar,” he all but demands as she tidies the guitar and bass mics back into their box.

“No,” she says simply.

“Why not?”

“You already know how to play guitar.”

“Maybe I can play, but you’re much better than I am.”

He loathes to admit it, but after years of studying the guitarists of Strike Force and the Golden Deer, and deciding he was in fact, the best, he’s glad that there’s someone he can look up to. Byleth’s facial expression doesn’t change at all while she plays, her fingers moving lighter and faster than anyone he’s ever seen. He was mesmerised by her rendition of their most well-known song, and Felix knows that if Dimitri or Sylvain find out there is someone better than him at their own music, he’ll be a laughing stock for months.

“That’s not necessarily true,” she hums, zipping the case and swinging it over her shoulder. “We have very different styles of playing. I studied classical guitar for a long time.”

“Well then, teach me that.”

“No,” she repeats, firmer this time, getting her point across.

“Why not?” He repeats, again, and it’s like something in him is about to snap. Why won’t she listen? He’s giving her a compliment – there isn’t anyone else that he’d even think about taking lessons from. “I’ll pay you. Properly.”

“It’s not about the money. It would be a waste of my time and yours if I taught you guitar. As I said, you already know how to play.”

She’s almost out the door now, computer bag slung over one shoulder, a box of mics in one hand and cables in the other. He has to get her to stay, but he’s not sure what to say that will convince her not to walk out the door with all his dreams of being the best guitarist he can going with her. (And okay, maybe there’s more to it than the guitar thing, and maybe it’s about her, but he doesn’t want to recognise that for the time being.)

Byleth is the one that pauses in the doorway. “Have you ever had formal training? Taken exams?”

“No,” he replies without even thinking, because she’s still here, still talking.

“Have you ever studied music theory?”

“No.”

“What about Dimitri and Sylvain?”

“Sylvain has that degree that he likes to show off about, and Dimitri did lessons in school. They were both more into that than I was. I just liked making sound, before I realised I was good at it.”

“Do they write the songs?”

“Sylvain, mostly,” Felix scoffs. “He doesn’t look it, but he really does have a knack for these sorts of things.”

“Interesting.”

“What? Look, if you’re not going to teach me, like you said, you’re just wasting both of our time. Just go.” He doesn’t want to say it, but his mouth has a habit of talking without engaging any part of his brain. It’s a lifelong thing, and he’s kicking himself as she stares at him.

It’s been a long time since she’s shared her knowledge with anyone. There was a small group when she was at school, younger students that were eager to learn the guitar from someone so cool, so well established on the music scene. And she looks across at Felix now, many years on, and sees the same enthusiasm, buried much deeper underneath the cold exterior he displays.

“I won’t teach you guitar,” Byleth says, quietly, and he sighs. “But I will teach you music theory, if you want. That’s what will make you a better player. If you understand the background of what you’re playing, it will come more naturally to you. Besides, if you had been doing exams, you would have had to do this by now. I’m amazed you’ve got this far without picking up a book.”

“Well, the education system isn’t for everyone,” he snaps, before realising that in truth, she’s made a very generous offer. “But okay. Thank you. I’ll... take you up on that.”

“And don’t worry about paying me. You can buy me a coffee sometime,” Byleth says with another smile, and Felix swears that she winked. When he blinks, and looks at her again, her face is that neutral expression he’s grown so accustomed to.

“Alright. See you next week then.”

“Okay, Felix. See you later.”

She leaves him there, in that basement, and smiles as she passes Dimitri, who offers to help her take her things to the car. She accepts his offer of help this time, feeling a little bad that she’s had to insist that he doesn’t know what he’s doing all evening. He carries the rest of the mics and stands to the car, and together they pack everything in neatly. Sylvain and Ingrid are packing up the car with the sticker, fitting the entire drum kit into the back. They wave as they drive off, leaving Byleth confused.

“Are they together?” She asks Dimitri, who just laughs.

“No one is quite sure. They live together, but that’s a roommate situation. Sylvain says they are, and Ingrid says they aren’t. I don’t think I’ll ever find out until they announce they’re getting married or having a child, and even then I’m not sure I’ll believe it.”

“Ah. Fair enough. Must be weird, having that dynamic in the band.”  
  
“Not really,” Dimitri admits. “The four of us have been friends forever. It’d take a lot to split us up now.”

* * *

_@INeedANap:  
  
Imagine having all the time in the world and you spend it sleeping. That is my life currently, and it’s excellent._

_@BernieV replied:  
  
You better not be late to work tomorrow!  
  
@Petra_Radio replied:  
  
@BernieV @INeedANap I am most excited to be seeing you again tomorrow!_

_@MarianneVonE:_

_It’s my holiday this week, so my shows are all going to be taken over by @Ignatz143! His usual shows are wonderful, and I’m sure he’ll do an excellent job. :)_

_@Ignatz143 replied:_

_Thank you Marianne! I’ll certainly do my best._


	5. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I really don’t care about local music. It all sounds the same.”
> 
> “Pretend to care,” Edelgard says, her tone nothing more than a warning as she pushes the folder across her desk to Linhardt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's art is by [mythiicat!](https://twitter.com/mythiicat/status/1349385722793504773?s=20) :)

Linhardt’s shows on Saturday mornings are often considered comedy shows, rather than proper radio presenting. He has next to no experience in the field, and mostly just says whatever he feels like. He follows a vague list of things he needs to cover in his three hour nine to twelve slot, and spends the rest of the time improvising.

When the radio first went on air, and he was accepted on board, he was pulled into multiple disciplinary hearings by Edelgard. There were a large number of complaints regarding his conduct on air, from falling asleep to making thinly veiled political points. While Edelgard never outwardly condoned his views, he was warned not to say them on air again. This only made Linhardt feel more smug, and he counteracted this by picking and choosing more politically motivated songs.

Edelgard sits him down again after this morning’s show, a Saturday where he just about managed to avoid falling asleep. There were a few texts on the phone lines about how funny he was, and none with anything approaching a complaint. Maybe it was a formal complaint this time, he wondered. Edelgard sits behind her desk, glaring down at a folder in front of her.

“How do you feel about doing another show?” Edelgard questions eventually.  
  
“Really?” Linhardt asks, with none of the enthusiasm that one would usually have when essentially offered a promotion.

“Yes. People like you, and we have some slots that could used filling with more interesting content. I know if it were up to you, you would make up some of the most… unusual concepts for radio shows. So here’s the deal – local music.”  
  
“I really don’t care about local music. It all sounds the same.”  
  
“Pretend to care,” Edelgard says, her tone nothing more than a warning as she pushes the folder across her desk to Linhardt. “Tuesday nights, two hours of musicians based in and around Garreg Mach City. A mixture of bands and solo artists, as many different genres as we can find. We’ll start with the stuff we have license for already, and put out an open call for recordings from everyone else.”

“Is it not nepotism to promote your band on your radio station? Or at least, it’s… morally questionable,” Linhardt comments as he reads the list of bands and songs they have at their disposal.

“Strike Force are one of a number of bands that we can use. It’s just a suggestion. The order of the show is entirely up to you.”  
  
“You’re giving me complete creative freedom, as long as I stick to the list?” Linhardt clarifies.

“Yes,” Edelgard answers carefully. “Under all normal radio guidelines, of course.”

“Then yes, okay. I will accept your offer. I know Alliance Sounds do something not dissimilar.”  
  
“Alliance Sounds are not our competition. Radio Moon even less so, since they’re student run and only hire three or four people on a full-time basis. Our main competitor is Seiros FM. They’re run by taxpayer money, and we all have to rely on ads. We need to make strides forward in the industry.”  
  
“Right, okay,” Linhardt says, ignoring that the way they’re supposedly making strides is by copying concepts of shows from other radio stations and putting their own spin on it. He’ll get paid more if he agrees, and he doesn’t care enough about the other stations to find much of a problem with it. “Sounds good to me. Can I start next week? I need more than four days to come up with a proper show that will make sense.”  
  
“That sounds excellent. I’ll email you more details and an amended contract later. Thank you for your cooperation, Linhardt.”  
  
“No problem.”

He can feel Edelgard’s eyes on him as he leaves her office. He groans as soon as he gets into the lift and finds himself alone. As much as doing an extra show (especially one as important sounding as Edelgard made it out to be) sounds great, and he’ll get paid more, he’s tired enough as it is. Is he going to have to drop a class for this? He certainly hopes not.

He’ll need a coffee after that, Linhardt decides. Edelgard’s lecture on local radio politics has cut into his nap time, and if he doesn’t get the nap, then he’ll not be able to finish the work he has for class, nor get a head start on the new show. To get coffee now, or to walk closer to home? It’s a conundrum that Linhardt doesn’t quite know how to solve.

His legs decide for him, and he finds himself walking through the door to Lúin before he’s really processed where he is. He mumbles his way through his order to the tall one, and tries not to laugh when the grumpy one hands him his coffee, glaring at him all the while. He’s never bothered to try to learn their names – he just doesn’t care enough.

He turns around, about to leave, when a motion catches his eye, and he does a double take. In a table close to the middle of the room sits Marianne, an empty seat opposite her. She’s waving at him, and he waves back. She nods towards the vacant seat, and he makes his way over.

“Good afternoon,” he offers, clutching his takeaway cup to keep his hands warm.

“I was listening to you this morning,” Marianne says with a smile. “It’s hard to always listen to the shows from where I work, so it’s nice to have a change.”

“Oh, I’m glad. And I understand the sentiment. I listen to your show every day, rather than listen to anything from Eagles Radio. They’re so annoying. I’ve been offered another show, so now I do Saturday and Sunday mornings and Tuesday nights. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”  
  
“That’s such an excellent opportunity!” Marianne cheers.

“I suppose. I have a lot of prep work to do for it. They’re making me cover local music, and I don’t listen to much live music.”  
  
“Oh?” She asks, interest piqued. “What… what are they making you do?”

“They’ve given me a list of local musicians and songs we have the rights to play, and then I have to pick which ones to put into a two-hour long show… sounds like a lot of work. I’ll have to listen to everything before I can decide what sounds good together, and I can almost guarantee I’ll not enjoy any of it.”

“Really?” Marianne asks, pulling out her phone and typing out a text, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Linhardt. “So… um, what sort of music do you choose to listen to?”  
  
“I listen to… well, things that wouldn’t be considered music by a lot of people. Sound art. Or EDM, if I’m trying to wake myself up.”

“Interesting,” Marianne hums. “I’m more of an indie person myself, or classical. Some jazz, too. That’s why I like the local scene so much.”  
  
“Maybe I should start paying more attention to it. It seems like the big thing all the stations are vying to make their “thing” at the moment.”  
  
“If you’re interested, Claude and the Golden Deer are playing downtown on Monday night. I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you there,” Marianne offers. Linhardt considers this for a moment. Will Marianne be there? He’d like more excuses to see her aside from the few times they randomly bump into each other at coffee shops.

“Oi,” comes a cold voice from behind in. Linhardt turns to see the grumpy barista. “You didn’t pay to sit down,” he says, nodding to Linhardt’s takeaway cup. “We’re really busy and need the seats. So you better move it.”  
  
“Is that a thing?” Marianne asks.   
  
“Yes. You paid to sit in, so it’s fine. He needs to go.”

The man folds his arms across his chest, daring Linhardt to try him. With a sigh, he gets to his feet, and smirks to himself when grumpy barista bristles at seeing that Linhardt is marginally taller than him.

“I’ll try to make it on Monday,” Linhardt says to Marianne. “See you soon, I hope.”

“Yes, have a nice day!” She offers in response, though she looks a little worried about the whole situation.

As Felix returns to the counter, Dedue gives him a look from the corner of his eye that makes Felix sigh loudly, for dramatic effect. He didn’t _need_ to go over there, technically he was sitting with someone who was paying for the table, but the man had a vibe about him that Felix always _hated_ , and he wasn’t sure if he got the hint or not.

“That man was a regular customer,” Dedue says calmly, wiping down the counter in a small break from customers. “It was rude to kick him out.”  
  
“He always is in here for hours at a time, and only ever buys one cheap coffee a day. He’s an asshole.”  
  
“He’s doing nothing wrong. Besides, it’s sweet to see him and the girl. She’s always very nice.”  
  
“It’s not her I have a problem with,” Felix spits.

He shuts up when the next customer comes in, but spends the rest of the shift practically vibrating on the spot behind the espresso machine. Dedue sighs, counting down the minutes until home time.

* * *

_@FHFraldarius:  
  
I hate my job_

_@INeedANap replied:  
  
Really?  
  
@FHFraldarius replied:_

_How did you even find me_

_@INeedANap replied:_

_Your band, obviously. Didn’t know that the lead guitarist from Blue Lions was Garreg Mach’s grumpiest barista_

_@FHFraldarius replied:_  
  
Do you even have a job?


	6. Take Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She keeps her balance perfectly as the lift jolts into action. Her eyes (blue, Felix notices for the first time) stare straight forward. Her hair sits just above her collarbone, and looks choppy around the ends, as if she cut it herself for whatever reason. Her dress sense is exactly the same as the time she visited them – and Felix assumed that was just casual clothes. Byleth wears ripped jeans and heavy boots and tight-fitting tops and a shiny silver jacket over the top, and looks like the definition of cool.

Felix hates being late to things. Blue Lions had agreed to meet at Seiros FM’s front doors at six, and then they would go in together. But Felix finds himself there at a quarter to, and heads inside to get out of the cold. The lobby of Seiros FM isn’t betrayed by the outer façade – what looks like an old grey building gives way to a huge classy lobby – white marble flooring and bright lights and gold trim on every surface. It almost looks like a hotel, or maybe some new kind of church that probably shouldn’t have supporters.

It’s relatively empty at this time of night – there’s not even a receptionist behind the desk. Felix assumes that most of the employees have gone home for the day – he knows Sylvain leaves at five. He should be about somewhere, but Felix also vaguely recalls a conversation about asking his boss to leave half an hour early, so he had time to have dinner (with Ingrid, presumably) before the show.

A girl with green hair sits on a bench by the window, tapping furiously at her laptop. She looks up when Felix walks in, clocks his guitar, and gives him a little wave. She looks much too young to work here, probably still in school, so Felix assumes she must be the child of an employee.

As he thinks this, a door on the far side of the lobby opens, and two figures walk out – one he recognises as Byleth, the other a taller, older man wearing a coat. He approaches the girl sitting by the window, and the two leave. In the time it takes for Felix to pay attention to that, he realises he’s lost track of Byleth.

She’s headed toward the lift. The lift doors are opening. Felix is still standing by the entrance to Seiros FM, and legs it across the lobby, throwing his arm into the lift, his whole body falling in after him. Byleth looks shocked as he straightens up, but manages a small smile.

“Felix, right? You’re early.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He doesn’t like the implication that she could’ve forgotten who he was – has she also forgotten about the lessons that she had offered to give him? Felix certainly hasn’t – he’s been thinking about where to take her for the coffee as payment since the last time he saw her. Byleth is his idol, and it’s strange that he’s actually met her, never mind is standing in a lift beside her.

He pulls out his phone and extends his friends the courtesy of letting them know that he’s already inside. Ingrid responds with an eye rolling emoji, which is enough confirmation to let him know that they’ve all seen it. He slides his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, and glances at Byleth out of the corner of his eye.

She keeps her balance perfectly as the lift jolts into action. Her eyes (blue, Felix notices for the first time) stare straight forward. Her hair sits just above her collarbone, and looks choppy around the ends, as if she cut it herself for whatever reason. Her dress sense is exactly the same as the time she visited them – and Felix assumed that was just casual clothes. Byleth wears ripped jeans and heavy boots and tight-fitting tops and a shiny silver jacket over the top, and looks like the definition of _cool_.

The lift shudders as it comes to a halt, and the doors slide open. Felix gestures for Byleth to go first – sensible, considering he has no idea where he’s going. He doesn’t even know if Byleth is taking him where he’s supposed to be going, or if he’s just following her around like a lost puppy. But the corridor he follows her down is dark, with large panels on the wall that Felix immediately recognises to be soundproofing.

She unlocks a door, and flicks the lights on. There’s a desk in the middle of the room, complete with mixing desk, microphones and a computer. Byleth turns the computer on, and moves to the back of the room, unlocking the recording studio and holding the door open for Felix. He sets his guitar down, leaning against the wall, and turns back to Byleth.

“This is where the magic happens,” she says, though she doesn’t sound all that enthusiastic about it. Why don’t you tell your friends where we are so you can get all set up?”  
  
“Where are we?” Felix mumbles, having not paid attention to their journey here at all.

“Fourth floor, turn left when you leave the lift, end of the corridor. I’ll be in the staff room at the other end of the corridor if you need me urgently. I’m hungry. I’ll be back soon,” she promises, and reaches out to pat Felix on the forearm.

His eyes don’t leave her as she leaves the room. Felix’s arm is surprisingly warm where her touch lingers. He shakes that thought from his head – now is definitely _not_ the time. He can’t let his mind wander to teenage crushes and warm hands and expressionless faces when Blue Lions are about to play the biggest gig of their career so far.

He texts the group chat, and the other three appear within minutes. Sylvain is keen to get into practicing – they were told not to bring the drum kit, and to use the one in the studio. As soon as he enters the room, Sylvain’s bag is dropped by the door, sticks out, coat discarded. Ingrid rolls her eyes and tidies up as he starts practicing. Dimitri is more graceful in taking out his instrument, adjusting the height of the mic stand to suit him. But Felix notices the way his brow is furrowed, his jaw set.

Byleth returns to the studio with a Tupperware box in one hand and a travel mug in the other. She sits at her desk, shovelling rice into her mouth as she stares blankly at her computer. Presumably she’s doing something, as soon her voice comes over the intercom.

“Hi, Blue Lions. Glad you could all make it. I’m just eating my dinner here. If you need anything, just yell. Otherwise, let me know when you’re ready for your sound check – absolutely no later than six thirty – and then I’ll explain how this is going to go.”

Ingrid disappears to speak to Byleth as the other three set up, Sylvain’s musical eye adjusting the mics to suit him better. Dimitri tunes his bass, his expression unlike anything that Felix has seen on him in a long time. He doesn’t like what it might mean, and the worst part is, he doesn’t know _why_ Dimitri is making that expression.

Sylvain seems to notice it too, and shoots Felix a look out of the corner of his eye. He nods towards Dimitri, and starts up a new song. Felix is quick to join in, Dimitri coming in with his bass and then vocals as he should. They sound fine – all the practicing over the last few weeks has made a difference. This time, Felix makes sure that his guitar is in tune – he can’t afford to embarrass himself in front of Byleth again, listeners of her show be damned.

They run through the song they’re playing a number of times, each run having few to no mistakes. Felix feels more confident in his playing, and when he dares glance through the soundproof glass to where Byleth sits, she catches his eye, and smiles. He finds himself with renewed energy – even something like a smile is high praise from Byleth.

“I have to go,” Ingrid says, sticking her head around the door. “There’s nowhere for me to sit in here where I won’t be making noise. I’ll be waiting in the lobby for you, and listening on my phone. Good luck!”  
  
She grins as she leaves, and for the first time in a long time, Felix finds himself nervous. He didn’t care for all their gigs in run down bars and music clubs that need a serious deep clean. He didn’t care when he played for Sylvain’s music exam in school. He only cared at their first ever public performance, when he was fourteen and Sylvain made them play at the school end of year concert, and it came to Felix’s mind that this was the first time he’d play, and Glenn wouldn’t be there to hear it.

Now, he discards that thought. Glenn would probably have laughed at him anyway, age fourteen, stumbling over the solo in Hotel California while Dimitri played the same four notes over and over again and Ingrid played some sort of synth that sounded out of place most of the way through.

If they were to play that song now, Felix would insist that Sylvain sang, not Dimitri, because Dimitri could barely hit the notes then, and certainly couldn’t now. And everything has been Sylvain’s idea the whole way through, so it makes sense that Sylvain should sing. And Sylvain is a better than singer than Dimitri – Felix will never let him live down his starring turn as Henry Higgins in their school’s performance of My Fair Lady.

They sound fine tonight, so Dimitri gives the signal for Byleth to begin their soundcheck. She looks almost startled as she sets down her coffee cup, pressing buttons on her mixing desk. That gives way to an intense look of concentration as she clicks through screens on her computer before finally turning back to the band.

“Alright, ready to go? Sylvain first, please.”

Sylvain’s beats are steady, controlled. Byleth marvels at his control – unlike most of the other drummers she sees, Sylvain is more disciplined. It’s like he actually knows what he’s doing. For him, the drum kit is an instrument in and of itself, rather than a tool on which to prop up the rest of the music and keep the other two from going out of time. She allows herself a smile, wondering just what surprises tonight’s interviews will bring.

“Dimitri, bass next, if you’re ready?”  
  
Dimitri barely moves as he plays, eyes glued to his fingers. Byleth wonders vaguely if it’s because he’s not singing, but he seems a lot stiffer than he seemed at their gig, and at the recording session a few weeks ago. Of course, she doesn’t know him well enough to properly know what’s going on – perhaps it’s just nerves? This show will have a much larger audience than any of their gigs. But his face seems sterner than before too, and she has no explanation for that.

“Alright, Felix next please.”  
  
Unlike Dimitri, Felix keeps his eyes on her, rather than on his instrument. Usually, this sort of thing from musicians is to be threatening, to prove themselves the better instrumentalist. But it’s not that with Felix, and annoyingly, Byleth can’t figure out what on earth his deal is. He knows she’s better, he said as much to her face. So why is he staring? She adjusts his sliders accordingly, tearing her eyes away from Felix.

“Great,” she says into the microphone. “Vocals next, then. Is it just Dimitri, or do you having backing vocals too?”  
  
“Just me,” Dimitri says, clearing his throat before he starts to sing.

At least his singing is no different than usual, Byleth thinks with relief. She really wants them to do well. They’re a charming band, if a little rough around the edges. Ingrid is a great manager as far as getting them together and sorting out their gigs, but they could do with someone who understands their style of music better to really market them and tighten them up a bit better.

“All together, then,” Byleth calls, making some notes on who to ask about that. She has a few ideas – contacts of contacts, people she knows from back in the days of Ashen Demon. But then she scrunches the post it note and throws it into the bin – it wouldn’t be fair to help out Blue Lions when she hasn’t extended the same privileges to her other bands.

“And that’s us,” she says finally, swinging back on her chair. “We still have half an hour to go before the show, so I’m just going to run through what’s going to happen. I’ll play a song, I’ll introduce you. Then I’ll interview Dimitri, just a few questions about how the band started. Another song, interview Sylvain. I might put another song in the middle, if you want to segue into it. You have less members than some other bands, so more time to take up talking. And Felix doesn’t want to be interviewed, am I right?”  
  
“I changed my mind,” he says suddenly. “I’ll do it.”  
  
“Okay, then you can go after Sylvain. Then after Felix, you can play live. I’ll be sure to mention your social media and other things, so people know where to find you. I’ll be muting your mics during the show, but do be quiet. The soundproofing isn’t great.”

The three of them relax, and set their instruments down. Felix perches on his amp, and seems to be talking to Sylvain about something. Dimitri stands with his arms folded, observing them, not contributing to the conversation. The three of them seem so close, just like Dimitri told her they were the last time they spoke. Byleth sighs, and makes her way back down the corridor for another coffee.

It’s a strange atmosphere, being with the Blue Lions. Most bands she interviews are groups from music school where they were forced together, groups where it’s clear that one person is the leader and probably held open auditions, leading to a mishmash of sounds and personalities. There are a few bands who start out as childhood friends, but not many, and it’s almost sweet to see that they’re all such good friends, even after years out of school.

When she returns, coffee warming her from the inside out, it’s like nothing has changed in the twenty minutes she was gone. She calls through to them a ten-minute warning, and that seems to change their energy. Sylvain and Felix look excited to start, while Dimitri’s face retains that stony exterior. Byleth wonders yet again what’s going on there – he was very gentle and friendly when they met a few days ago, and this seems so different.

She invites Dimitri into the room with her at five minutes to, and gives him a warm smile that he just about manages to return. It’s all she can really ask for – she doesn’t know enough about any of these people to be prying into their personal lives. At one minute to she holds her hand up for everyone to be quiet, and the sound clicks on through her headphones to begin. She plays Blue Lions first song, and relishes in how different it sounds, recorded in a basement, rather than a recording studio. It fits them, she thinks.

“Good evening, everyone. My name is Byleth Eisner, and welcome to Thursday night on Seiros FM. It’s eight o’clock, and you’re here for an hour of music from Blue Lions. They’re here with me tonight, and in front of me now is Dimitri Blaiddyd, their frontman. Tell me, Dimitri, what brought you together?”  
  
“Not a what, but a who. Sylvain was always into music, and forced us together in school to play for an end of year concert. That led to a lot of practicing outside of school, more end of year concerts, and playing for Sylvain’s music exams, before we actually got to play gigs. Which were hard to find, because most of us weren’t allowed into bars,” Dimitri explains, managing a laugh.

“So you’ve known each other for a long time, then?”  
  
“Forever, really. We’ve been together as a band for nine years, though.”  
  
“Always great to hear about music bringing groups together like that. It’s an usual tale for you to still be together after so long – a lot of bands would have broken up now, having not had commercial success.”  
  
“We’ve never been after commercial success, not that we’d be averse to it coming along. We just like making music together.”

“An honest answer tonight from Dimitri – and that’s what makes the best music, in my opinion. A real love for what you’re doing is more important than what you know or who you know.” Byleth slides her chair along so she’s in front of the computer once again. “Time for another song. This is the first song that Blue Lions wrote together. Hope you enjoy.”

With the microphones turned off, Byleth shoos Dimitri out of the room, and Sylvain replaces him. The redhead seems a lot more comfortable than the frontman, one arm slung over the back of his chair. Byleth likes him, she decides, because she’s not sure she’s ever met someone who knows what they’re doing to the same extent as Sylvain.

“Next up tonight we have Sylvain Gautier, who is the drummer for Blue Lions, as well as their primary songwriter. When we were recording a few weeks ago, Sylvain, you told me that you have actually taken your music education all the way to a degree. Tell me a bit about that and how it’s affected the band.”

“I’ve always liked playing music, always found it really easy. I started with piano, as a lot of people do, took up violin age eight. Tried guitar at age ten, bass at twelve, drums at thirteen. I can still play all of them. I like to have many strings to my bow.” He winks at Byleth, who just rolls her eyes. “Even had a go at musical theatre but I’m not much of a dancer. Having musical knowledge beyond just playing one instrument really helps when it comes to balancing out the instrumentals for the band.”  
  
“And why did you pick drums then, for the band? If you can do everything else, why settle on something that puts you away from the limelight?”  
  
“Felix has always been a great guitarist, and Dimitri was very enthusiastic about singing when we were younger. And besides, it’s the drummer who typically gets all the girls. Which is what this next song is about, actually, if you would be so kind as to let the population of Garreg Mach hear the fruits of my labour.”

Byleth hits play, mutes the microphones, and slides her headphones off. Sylvain follows suit, leaning back in his chair. This is the longest of Blue Lions songs, both in their repertoire and on tonight’s show.

“You’re doing great. Keep talking. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to get much out of Felix.”  
  
“I think he’ll surprise you. Just ask him about guitars and he’ll talk for hours. But I can keep going. I want to shout out Ingrid.”  
  
When the song ends, Byleth bring Sylvain back in slowly, with her own little monologue of the band’s history, pulled straight off the band’s Facebook page.

“So, it’s not just the four of you?”  
  
“We have Ingrid too. She’s our manager now, but she used to be our keyboard player. She’s actually a classically trained pianist, and has been a better musician than the rest of us put together forever. She never should’ve been playing synths for a band that stumbled their way through the most boring songs in the world age fifteen, because she was better than that. So shout out to Ingrid, for putting up with us for so many years.”

“I think we should have more classically trained pianists as keyboardists in bands, in my opinion. And maybe organists too, because a lot of bands could be improved with an organ every now and then.”

“I totally agree with you on that. I think having that background and being able to experiment around what you already know, rather than just learning new things all the time. Like, you should know how to sing before you get up and sing for money. Though we all like karaoke, and the worst singers are usually the most enjoyable karaoke acts, so who knows? The brain works in mysterious ways when it comes to music.  
  
“As for organs, I also think we should have an organ, and it might make our music even better because none of us have any clue where to even begin playing the organ. Too many buttons.”

“And with those words of wisdom, and potentially a hint at new music for Blue Lions, here’s another of their songs,” Byleth says, dismissing Sylvain with a wave and a laugh.

Felix replaces him swiftly. There’s something strangely intense about his gaze, even up close like this. He constantly looks like he’s about to say something to Byleth, but keeps his mouth shut. He runs a hand through his hair before putting his headphones on, and Byleth catches the eye of Sylvain in the other room, who seems to be laughing.

“Finally for tonight, we have Felix Fraldarius, the band’s guitarist. I have no preprepared questions for you because this was a last-minute decision, so let’s just jump on in. How do you fit into the band?”  
  
“I make us look cool,” Felix admits. “Dimitri is too shy to be cool, and Sylvain is usually too busy with his extracurricular activities for worrying about what we look like. Also, what good would a band be without a guitarist?”  
  
“There are plenty of guitarists in Garreg Mach who all think they’re the best. What makes you think you are?”  
  
“I don’t think I am,” Felix says honestly, staring into Byleth’s eyes with that intensity once again. “I think the best guitarist retired a while ago. But I think a lot of other guitarists are either too uptight or too casual. The right balance is something in the middle. I don’t believe in that practice for ten thousand hours crap. Either you’re good at something, or you’re not. It’s as simple as that.”

“So you don’t believe in improvement by trial and error? Playing music is an innate skill, for you?”  
  
“Not exactly. You’ll improve if you practice. But if you were never going to be good in the first place, why bother? Some people don’t have a musical bone in their body. And that’s fine, but they shouldn’t inflict it on other people.”  
  
“Potentially an unpopular opinion,” Byleth concedes. “But if anyone is listening and wants to start playing music, don’t let this put you off. And don’t let ten thousand hours put you off either, because that is the biggest lie told in the education system. It’s simply not true – fifty hours will get you started well on your way to where you want to be. That’s one hour a week for a year, folks.  
  
“Enough about music education,” she continues, sending Felix into the other room to get ready, “for there has been a lot of talk about its merits and flaws tonight, weirdly. Let’s hear Blue Lions live. This is their favourite song to play. You’ll find them next Wednesday at Lúin Café for an acoustic set, so if that’s your scene, be sure to check it out. You can also find them at Blue Lions Band on most social media platforms. Take it away!”

Their song goes smoothly, and Byleth turns all the mics off at the end, relaxing in her chair. That’s her job done for the day – all she needs to do now is remember to turn the lights off and lock the door on her way out.

The band members pack up their things. Dimitri is first to leave, mumbling something about finding Ingrid and thanking Byleth on his way past. She puts her own coat on, and waits for the other two boys to finish up. They look as concerned about Dimitri as she feels, and she feels obliged to ask something.

“Is he okay? He seemed a bit off today,” she asks, directed more at Sylvain.

“He’s annoyed that Strike Force got to go on here before us. Edelgard is his step sister, and they’ve always had this weirdly intense rivalry about literally everything. He works for local government, she’s got her own successful radio station, a band that is better than us in every conceivable way,” Sylvain explains as Byleth turns the lights off. “You can see why he’s bitter.”  
  
“They are better than you,” Byleth agrees, and Felix pulls a face. “Well, Caspar isn’t as good as you. He’s very wild. But Edelgard must practice all day every day. She’s got a custom guitar that definitely isn’t an at home job. Hubert is as dedicated as she is. Dorothea is a trained musical theatre singer. And they’ve got keys. But your music is a lot more marketable than theirs. If I had to place money on one of you two making it big, it would be Blue Lions. With more practice, at least.”  
  
“We can’t practice,” Felix spits. “We can never get the space. The music scene in this city is too big.”  
  
“It’s narrowing,” Byleth admits. “I’m almost out of bands. I’m moving on to solo singers in a few weeks, then I’m going to have to go to jazz or opera or classical to keep my show going. Some of the bands I interviewed at the start of my show have already disintegrated. Keep your eyes open. Keep practicing.”

It’s a grim message, but a reminder that they arts as a career has never been stable, has never been viable. Felix barely heeds these words – he’s going to make it big at some stage, with or without Blue Lions.

Sylvain dashes on ahead as they enter the lobby, seeing some sort of heated discussion between Ingrid and Dimitri. She looks angry, and also tiny in comparison to Dimitri’s frame. Byleth felt small standing beside him, and Ingrid is taller than her. She swallows hard, hoping that things aren’t going sour with Blue Lions, too.

“About those lessons,” Felix asks from beside her. She turns her head, but he looks straight ahead. “When… is a good time for you?”  
  
“My schedule is all over the place. But I’m available next Friday, all day?”  
  
“I work the open that day, so that suits great actually thanks.”

“Okay,” Byleth agrees, stifling a laugh at his stilted sentence. “How about I give you my number, so we can arrange a time and place? I’m happy to do my house, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Yeah, sure.”  
  
He pulls out his phone, trying to ignore how his fingers shake as he types Byleth’s number in. He sends a quick text, and her phone pings in her pocket. She doesn’t even bother to check it’s him, just offers him another smile.

“Good job tonight. See you next week.”  
  
With that, she leaves the building, abandoning Felix by the lift, staring after her. He manages to snap himself out of his stupor in time to see the band leaving the building, and is quick to catch up with them, falling into step with Sylvain.

“Did you get her number?” He asks, grin widening across his face.

“Yeah,” Felix says, trying not to smile himself, lest he open up an invitation for even more teasing. “Uh, for business stuff. She knows people that I’d like to know.”

“Felix got Byleth’s number!” Sylvain announces to the whole group.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ingrid warns, but he’s not Sylvain, so the warning doesn’t come with any real weight behind it.

Felix steps in a puddle, and finds his feet wet.

* * *

_To: allstaffext@eaglesradio.com_

_From: evonhresvelg@eaglesradio.com_

_Dear all,_

_Tomorrow, Wednesday, there will be a staff meeting in the board room at 11am. Attendance is mandatory. We will be outlining our business plan for the next year, which involves every single member of staff, bar cleaning. All jobs are secure for the time being._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Edelgard Von Hresvelg_

_CEO_


	7. House On A Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At seven, he gets out of his car, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to bring, so his guitar is in his car, but his bag is filled with pens and paper to hopefully get him through the lesson. Felix has absolutely no idea what to expect, but spending time with Byleth will hopefully be enjoyable itself.
> 
> She opens the door to him with a smile, moving aside to let him in. He hands her a takeaway coffee, bought from a drive-through on the way here. They’re probably cold now, Felix laments, but Byleth drinks it anyway, leading him through to her living room.

Edelgard paces the board room, heels clacking against polished floor. Today is the day. Everything she has been working towards for the last two years comes to a head today as she announces her business plan. It’s been hard work, she’s well aware of that. But she’s confident in her decisions, in her money-making schemes, in the promotions she’s made over the last few weeks to fill up slots that were previously filled with repeats. She’s hired three new staff members to play through the night. Edelgard is ready to take over.

Part of her is nervous – the part of her that is human, the part that worries if she’s done too much, not enough. The other part is fully confident in every decision she’s made thus far. And there’s nothing that a suit can’t fix – red velvet suit, black satin shirt, gold eagle pin on her lapel. Gold clips holding up her bun.

From behind her Hubert coughs. Edelgard pivots on the ball of her foot, regards him with a critical eye. His face is as stony as ever, ready to defend Edelgard at every turn. He too has the eagle pin on his lapel – something that unites them under the banner of their radio.

“It’s two minutes to eleven. We should open the door,” he advises.

“Very well,” Edelgard replies, stalking along the length of the room. She pauses in front of the doors for barely a moment before pulling one open, pushing the door stop under it.   
  
Most of the employees are gathered outside, and filter in. There isn’t many seats, and most end up hovering around the backs of chairs. Edelgard doesn’t bother to take attendance, knowing that Hubert has definitely already calculated who is and isn’t there. Ferdinand gives her wave, and Edelgard smiles. He’s the only other person privy to her plans, given that they live together.

“Greetings everyone, and good morning. Thank you for joining us,” she begins. A murmur goes round in response.

“Hush,” Hubert warns.  
  
“No need,” Edelgard mumbles to him, holding up a hand. “Firstly I would like to thank you all for your hard work. Many of you have been with us from the start. As stated in the email you received, today I will be outlining the business plan for the next twelve months. We are a little ahead of the financial year, and as such this plan will fully go into effect in April. But consider these changes to be enforced from now.  
  
“First of all, all employees who have been with us will be rewarded with an end of financial year bonus. This will be halved for employees with us one year, and quartered for everyone who has been here for six months. This is a thank you for that hard work that you have given to the company.”  
  
There’s a round of applause, started by Ferdinand, likely excited at the prospect of getting his own bonus. Edelgard allows a smile through her stony exterior for a second – these people do mean a lot to her, as they’re the people that can get her to her own goals.

“Secondly, before we begin the presentation, I would like to draw attention to the contract everyone signed when they joined. We have had no instances of prejudice from within our staff reported to us, but as everyone is aware when we hired Petra Macneary to our news team a few weeks ago I had to go on air myself to defend her. I will not stand for this within the company at all, and I would like you to turn in anyone you hear holding prejudices of any sort.”  
  
Petra grins, and Edelgard manages to smile back. She leans over the computer in front of her, clicks forward on her presentation. The screen behind her lights up with graphs made by Hubert. He has been instrumental in putting this whole thing together, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

“Step one: promotion and new hires. As many of you are aware, this step has already been completed. We have created new shows to fill gaps, we’ve taken all repeats off air. We have set up a new studio along from the current two in order for us to be able to make this work. I will have Hubert explain the next step.”  
  
She takes a few steps to the side and allows her assistant to be front and centre. This is not something that Hubert enjoys. But he knows what he’s doing, more so than anyone else. So he should be the one to explain all the fine details, not her. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but clears his throat regardless.

“Here is our projected profits for the next year based mostly on ad revenue. This is how we pay you. We are attempting currently to enter into a deal with Garreg Mach’s government to give us money to run as a competitor to Seiros FM. They are a church-based radio, and it is unfair to non-believers and those of other religions that the government will only fund a religious radio station. As such, we hope to be subsidised by the government, and funded partially by ad revenue. Ads will be less frequent on the station, allowing more time for content.”  
  
A hand goes up within the assembled crowd, and Hubert suppresses a roll of his eyes as he looks to see who it is. Lysithea von Ordelia sits with a stony face, her hand raised above her head as she would during school.

“Do you have an accountant to prove these numbers?”  
  
“No. I did these numbers. They are only projections.”  
  
“They’re wrong,” she says plainly. “Just sitting here, I can see mistakes in your projections. I would recommend that you have an accountant look over these numbers lest you embarrass yourself again.”  
  
“That’s enough, Lysithea,” Edelgard cuts in. “Thank you for your observation. Even if the numbers aren’t entirely correct, the point still stands. We will have them revised and an edited version emailed to everyone.”

“Yes, thank you,” Hubert says through gritted teeth. “As Edelgard had pointed out, our point is that the costs of running the station will change within the next year. We will lessen our profits through advertising in line with government subsidies. This money will go back into the company in way of hiring more staff when and where needed, money for new shows and development programs for creatives, and potentially a pay raise for all in the next financial year if profits stay up.”  
  
There’s another round of applause at that – as much as these people like doing their jobs, money spurs them on like most people, and the prospect of a pay rise on the horizon, as well as a bonus in the foreseeable future, gives them more incentive to stay at the company. Edelgard and Hubert understand that, and strive to keep them working for Eagles Radio as long as is feasible.

“Thank you, Hubert,” Edelgard says, allowing the man to step to the side once again. “Finally today, I will discuss the future of the shows on the radio. If you are currently doing a show, your job is safe. We are, however, intending to make some changes. Falling in line with stations across the world, we are dedicating more time to music. Friday and Saturday nights will be filled with themed shows – dance music, music from decades, or specific genres. To get people energised for the weekend.

“Morning and daytime shows will remain largely unchanged. We have got some new staff members who will be joining us beginning next week as our overnight hosts, joining Miss Ordelia as head of overnight. We are also going to be putting a suggestion box with Ferdinand at reception, so if any of you have ideas for future shows, we are open to suggestions. Any questions?”  
  
Edelgard casts a cursory glance around the room. No one raises their hand, or moves a muscle. She breathes a sigh of relief.

“Very well. That is all. Thank you for your attendance. Everything said here today will be sent in a follow up email by the end of the day.”

The employees file out, taking a general chatter with them as they go. It isn’t long before the board room is empty once again, Ferdinand closing the door again as he makes his way back down to reception. Edelgard lets out a sigh, gripping the table in front of her.

“That was a disaster,” Hubert says from somewhere behind her.

“It could’ve been worse,” she admits. “Find an accountant, asap. We can’t afford to make mistakes like that again. Where is our in house accountant?”  
  
“You fired him last week,” Hubert says drily, “for making mistakes.”  
  
“Then get Lysithea to run over the details. Is she not studying accountancy?”  
  
“I have no idea what goes on in the personal lives of any of our staff members. It is you that has a vested interest in the girl.”  
  
“I think she has potential,” Edelgard comments. She turns to Hubert, and reaches up to pat Hubert on the cheek. “Cheer up. It’s not the end of the world. They seemed satisfied. Now we just need to put the plan into action.”

* * *

_{Felix} Hey_

_{Felix} It’s Felix  
  
{Byleth} I know._

_{Byleth} Friday night then, if that suits you still?_

_{Felix} Yes. What time?  
  
{Byleth} Seven? You could bring coffee, if you want to keep that offer._

_{Felix} I can do that_

_{Byleth} [MAP]_

_{Byleth} Here’s my address. See you then._

* * *

Felix sits in his car for thirty minutes, having vastly overestimated the time it would take to get to Byleth’s house. It does not suit her at all, he thinks. It’s a quiet suburb area, with pristine gardens and freshly painted fences as far as the eye can see. Byleth’s car and a motorbike are parked in the driveway, unlike the other driveways, filled with small city cars. Ingrid would be jealous; Felix thinks to himself.

At seven, he gets out of his car, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to bring, so his guitar is in his car, but his bag is filled with pens and paper to hopefully get him through the lesson. Felix has absolutely no idea what to expect, but spending time with Byleth will hopefully be enjoyable itself.

She opens the door to him with a smile, moving aside to let him in. He hands her a takeaway coffee, bought from a drive-through on the way here. They’re probably cold now, Felix laments, but Byleth drinks it anyway, leading him through to her living room.

It’s a long room – there’s a big mirror hanging on one wall, and three guitars on the other. Felix recognises two of them as Byleth’s guitar from Ashen Demon, and Jeralt’s guitar from the same time. He swallows hard, realising that the reason Byleth lives out here is because this is her childhood home – she has clearly never moved out. Felix wonders if Jeralt is here somewhere.

She flicks the light on at the other end of the room, and sits down at the dining table. Felix sits beside her, setting his bag on the table. Byleth has a stack of papers on the table, with a bright orange post it note on the top labelling the pile “beginner’s theory”.

“Alright,” she says, lifting the pages towards her. “I have no idea how much you know. I’d like to think you can tackle these first few sheets without any help based on your own knowledge.”

She passes him the first sheet, and he stares blankly at the question. There’s a line of music, which he never learned how to read. Add the bar lines, the question asks. This is just counting, he reasons, pulling his memories from school. He puts the lines in while Byleth watches over his shoulder. Her breath is hot against his neck, and is very distracting, unintentionally so.

He fills in the next question: similar to the first one, grouping notes together. The next one is the one that he dreads, filling in the names of the notes. He doesn’t know, he’s never bothered to know. But he _does_ know that they go in order up to G, so he makes an educated guess. The next one asks him to write out a scale. He’s aware that scales are a thing, has heard Ingrid practicing them. But he doesn’t know how to write them, and that’s the problem.

“I don’t know these answers,” he says, sliding the sheet back across to Byleth.

“Alright,” she says, scanning over the answers. “The first one is right; you’ll be pleased to hear. The second one too. Your letter names are all wrong, though. But that’s okay.”  
  
“Is it?” Felix asks.

“Yes. You’re learning. Anyway. This is the treble clef. The dot here is the note G,” Byleth says, pointing with her pen. “All the notes follow that – so the next space up is A. On this clef, the bass clef, the dot is F.”

“I’ll try again.”

And he does. It takes him a few minutes, but this time his answers are right, and he gets rewarded with a smile from Byleth. He can feel his heart flutter at that, and quickly ignores it. Never in his life has he felt something like that just from a smile, and he’s not about to start now.

“Scales, then,” Byleth says. “A little more complicated, but there are ways to help it. For these exams – not that I’m making you do exams – you only need to know four.”  
  
“That seems like a lot,” Felix grumbles.

“There are twenty-four, minimum,” Byleth points out.  
  
“Never mind. Explain, then.”

She lifts another page, this time with a circle on it. At the top she writes the letter ‘C’, to the right of it ‘G’ and ‘D’ and to the left ‘F’. She then writes more letters- ‘F’ above ‘G’, ‘F’ and ‘C’ above ‘D’, and ‘B’ above ‘F’.

“These are the major scales that are most common. Most things you play on guitar are in these keys. For example, most pop songs are written in G major, using the chords from that scale. It would most helpful for you to know scales and chords, in my opinion, with a little bit of rhythm on the side. I don’t think you need to learn terms and symbols really. But the theory behind chords will be most useful to you.”  
  
“Explain this circle, then.”  
  
“This is called the circle of fifths. On both sides, it goes round with a jump of five letter names. We begin at the top with C major. No sharps or flats. To the right we have the keys with sharps – G major with F sharp, and D major with F sharp and C sharp. On the left there is F major, with B flat. Makes sense?”  
  
“I think so,” Felix mumbles. Truth be told, he’s paying more attention to Byleth’s hands as she points things out to him. The diagram makes sense, but her voice is drowned out to a hum as she speaks. It’s a pleasant hum nonetheless.

“Try the scales exercise again, now that you know this.”

Felix’s brain barely works as he fills out the sheet. Byleth sitting so close to him takes up most of the thoughts in his brain, and he lets himself think for the first time since meeting her that perhaps he has a crush on her, and perhaps he has for a long time. She’s been his ideal in guitar playing, and now that he thinks about the few women he’s dated over the years, maybe she’s his ideal in women too.

Her hair is brighter now than when she was in Ashen Demon. She smiles more, but maybe that was just her actual personality compared to her stage persona. While Felix had snuck into a few of their shows, he had never met any of the members, and had made up his own ideas of what they were like based on what he saw on stage and what he could read online.

“Done,” Felix says, pushing the page back to her once again. She gives it a glance, and places a red tick at the end of the stave.

“Great. You’re learning fast! Next up is triads. They’re just the simplest forms of chords. So on the next line, write a triad of C, using the first, third, and fifth notes.”  
  
This time it’s easier for him to concentrate, as she gets up, making her way towards the piano. She sits on the stool facing him. He sets his pen down, and their eyes meet again. She turns to the piano, plays the chord he’s just created, and turns back to him.

“Understand?”

“Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“I don’t want to overload you with information, so that’ll probably do for now. Do… do you want homework? I’ve given some of my kids homework before.”  
  
“You have kids?”  
  
“Not my children,” she’s quick to clarify. “The ones I taught while I was in school.”  
  
“I don’t think I need to do homework. But I’d like if we can keep these lessons a regular thing. I don’t think I’ll be able to remember all of this from just one session.”

“That works for me. Well, you have my number now, so feel free to text anytime you have questions.”

“Are you sure?” Felix asks, biting his lip. “I don’t want to annoy you, I know you’re busy.”  
  
“Any time,” Byleth reiterates. “About anything.”

There’s something in Byleth’s tone that Felix likes, and he finds himself smirking to himself. Maybe he’s just projecting, but her words are enticing, suggesting something that Felix can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe she’s picking up on what he’s feeling, how he’s acting, and reflecting back to him. He swallows hard.

“I suppose that’s it for today then,” he says, almost disappointed.

“I’ll see you next week,” Byleth agrees.

Felix packs his things up, and Byleth follows him to the front door. He pauses there for a second, glancing back at her. She waits in the doorway; he stands still on the step. She holds his gaze, waiting patiently either for him to say something or for him to leave. Eventually, he sighs, and turns away.

“See you next week.”

* * *

_@INeedANap:_

_New show, tonight at seven. I’ll try not to fall asleep._

_@VonHresvelg replied:_  
  
More effort required next time you try to promo.

_@INeedANap replied:_

_This is my personal twitter and not something you can police, boss_


	8. Runaway Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t want to get out of Alliance Sounds,” Marianne explains. “It’s a great station. I like working for Claude. But… I have put in an application for a job at Seiros FM. They’re looking for an afternoon presenter, which is what I do now. So I like to think I have a chance, at least.”

“Eagles Radio is moving to the big time?” Marianne asks, stirring a sachet of sugar into her coffee.

“Sounds like it,” Linhardt says, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, that’s great for you!”  
  
“It would be better if I actually wanted to work in radio. I mean it’s fun, and I get paid, but it’s not what I _want_ to do.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Marianne questions, taking a seat across from Linhardt. Her hands curl around her coffee cup, a defence against the cold of winter that attacks the coffee shop, even with the door closed.

“I don’t know,” Linhardt says simply. “And I’m okay with that. I like learning things, mostly. I only work in radio because Eagles Radio started out as a student ran thing when Edelgard was at GMU, and I qualified as a DJ because I was also a student, though not there. Then she kept me on when she graduated and turned it into a proper company.”

“Job stability is important,” Marianne muses. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“And what about you? Are you any closer to getting out of Alliance Sounds?”  
  
“I don’t _want_ to get out of Alliance Sounds,” Marianne explains. “It’s a great station. I like working for Claude. But… I have put in an application for a job at Seiros FM. They’re looking for an afternoon presenter, which is what I do now. So I like to think I have a chance, at least.”  
  
“I’m rooting for you, Marianne. I’m certain you’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” she says, offering Linhardt a smile, half hidden behind her cup.

“You’re probably better off working for them rather than Eagles Radio anyway. Some of the things that I’ve heard people talking about aren’t… well. They don’t make sense.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Marianne sets her coffee cup down, and Linhardt stares at his hands.

“They made us sit through this presentation a few weeks ago where they stated their business plan. Their numbers were all wrong, which was pointed out to them. They promised bonuses and pay rises for everyone, but it was mostly based on if they get subsidiaries from the local government. So they’ve hired all these new people, promised job security, and… it’s based on hoping that they get this extra money.”

“That doesn’t sound like a great business model,” Marianne agrees. “Though of course, I’m no expert. I just… well. I hope it doesn’t result in the collapse of the company or anything. I don’t think that would end well.”  
  
“I reckon I could go work for Radio Moon,” Linhardt muses. “They’re student run, but always seem to have an empty slot that they can’t fill for one of their permanent DJs.”  
  
“Are they not weird?” Marianne laughs. “I mean, they all seem lovely, I’ve never met any of them, but… the stuff they play is so out there!”  
  
“Yes… a classical music show is a good idea. The radio dramas are… amateurish, but that’s okay. And what’s her name, Mercedes? Her show is…”  
  
“Interesting?” Marianne fills in.

“That’s putting it nicely. But she sounds like a nice person,” Linhardt says, tilting his head to the side.

“I wish there was a way for us all to meet up. I’d love to… bounce ideas off people. Though maybe one at a time, I think I’d get a little overwhelmed with a lot of people all in one place.”

“I can probably ask some of the people from Eagles Radio to chat with you, if you want?”  
  
“Oh, that would be nice,” Marianne agrees. “Maybe bring one of them with you next time we meet up here!”  
  
“We do seem to bump into each other a lot here, don’t we?” Linhardt hums.

“Yes. It’s nice, though. I do like spending time with you, even if it’s only for a short time.”

“Maybe sometime… we can go out properly. For longer than a ten-minute coffee.”  
  
“Yes, I think I’d like that,” Marianne says, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. Linhardt grins.

* * *

_{Felix} Are we still on for our lesson tonight?  
  
{Byleth} Of course. Can we go to your place? My dad’s home._

_{Felix} Sure_

_{Felix} [MAP]_

_{Byleth} Cool. I’m looking forward to it._

* * *

Felix’s apartment is almost embarrassingly small. There’s barely any room to do anything, but he has managed to squeeze a small dining room table in to the living room, as per his father’s insistence. It looks ridiculously out of place, but Felix is glad of the suggestion now that Byleth has invited herself over.

He wonders why she’s insisted on his place. There’s nothing wrong with his apartment, but her house has a certain vibe about it that he likes, probably due to the fact that there are guitars on the walls. Why does it matter that her dad is home? If anything, that’s better. Felix would love to meet Jeralt, but he’s hardly going to point that out to Byleth. Maybe he’s only a cool rockstar on stage, and an embarrassing dad in real life.

Cleaning has never been one of Felix’s specialities – he knows how to not kill himself with germs, but has never been one for being tidy. But he told Byleth a day when he wasn’t working, specifically so that he could spend the morning making the place look presentable. His stomach drops when he hears the knock on his door – he had given her the code to the building, which in retrospect probably wasn’t the smartest decision.

“Hey,” Byleth offers, with a wave but that usual blank expression on her face.

“Hi.”  
  
He moves aside to let her in, and closes the door behind her. She hovers just beside him, not sure where to go. He tilts his head in the direction of the living room. Byleth nods in response, and follows him through. He gestures to the table, and they take a seat at two of the sides of the square table. Felix is almost glad for it now, because it means putting a little more distance between the two of them.

Felix likes Byleth. This is a problem. Today marks their third lesson, and their fifth meeting. And every time they’ve met, Felix has felt weirder and weirder about being in her presence. He made an offhanded comment to Sylvain about it, and he just laughed, and that was when Felix realised that there was a reason that the hairs stood up on his arms when she leaned over him to point out why the scales he was writing were wrong.

“We’re going to focus on chords,” she says, handing him a sheet, snapping him out of his stupor. “I reckon you know more about them than you think.”  
  
“I think you seriously overestimate my abilities. I told you before, none of this shit makes sense to me.”  
  
“It will. It’s called learning, Felix.” She laughs, and he sighs, knowing that Sylvain was right. “Do you remember the triads we made the other week? Write one out.”  
  
That’s easy at least, a stack of three notes. It doesn’t really matter where he puts them, so he starts on G, because he remembers what line that one is. He looks back up to Byleth, who catches his eye and smiles. He’s not really used to her smiles yet. But he sees them, from time to time, and it makes him smile too. It’s a pretty smile. He’s supposed to be focussing on chords.  
  
“Okay, so this is G major. Do you know when you’re learning chords on guitar, and you see G, that’s what you’re supposed to hear? Well, if you see G/B, that’s a different chord.”  
  
“Yeah, you change where you put your fingers.”  
  
“It’s not _actually_ a different chord though. It’s still G.”  
  
“Now you’re making no sense.”  
  
“Trust me,” she says, resting her hand on his forearm. He meets her eyes again, and even around the corner from the table is too close. He’s close enough to kiss her from here, and he knows that would just end in disaster.

“Fine,” he says, pulling his arm off the table and folding them stubbornly. “Explain, then.”  
  
“So a G/B chord is a first inversion of the G chord. So instead of G being on the bottom, like how we usually identify the chord, the B is on the bottom. It’s arranged like this.” She writes the chord out again, this time stacked B, D, and then G. Felix looks at her like she’s mad.

“Who made this up?”  
  
“No idea. But it’s the rules, so…”

“Rules are ridiculous.”  
  
“Alright,” Byleth says in some attempt to soothe what is rapidly turning into a temper tantrum. “When the D is on the bottom, it’s called a second inversion.” She writes the chord out again, which just leads to Felix looking at her even more confused.

“Does this apply to other stuff too?”  
  
“Yes. You can do this with any chord. If it’s a seventh chord, it can have third inversions, a ninth can have fourth inversions, and so on.”  
  
“Seriously, this is some bullshit.”  
  
“You’re so angry about this for no reason. It’s just chords. Have a go, do the same with a chord of C.”

He is angry, but it’s more at his own stupidity and his own feelings than it is at the chords, though they are stupid. He’s not sure why they can’t all just be called their names and he can’t just know how to play them on the guitar. He doesn’t need to know how rearranging it on paper gives it a stupid fancy name.

He writes them, though, as Byleth requests. He would do any amount of these chords for her, because it makes her smile. He likes that smile a lot, and has found himself thinking about it when he’s at work. Even Dedue has noticed something different about him, often giving him funny looks, but at least unlike Sylvain, he doesn’t need to comment on it.

“They look great,” Byleth says when he hands his paper back. “You’re really getting the hang of this. I honestly thought you would have quit by now,” she admits.

“Nah. I know it’s useful. Besides, I’ve got a good teacher, and I like spending time with her,” he says, relishing in how she looks a little taken aback.

“This is fun,” she agrees after a moment. “I like spending time with you too.”  
  
“More chords?”

“Do you want to practice scales?” She asks. When did she get so close, Felix wonders. She seems to have leaned over to his side of the table.

“What about the bar line thing?” He shifts too, this time closer, instead of away like before. Is this going where he thinks it’s going to go?  
  
“You got that on the first go. Maybe try chords, then.”  
  
He doesn’t want to write out more inversions. Okay he only did one set, but he doesn’t care. What he wants to do is kiss Byleth. And she’s so close now. So he does. Felix closes the small gap between them, presses his lips to hers, short and sweet. He pulls away, finds her staring at him, her expression reverted back to that vague look that she so often has.

“Sorry,” he says, backing away. “I shouldn’t… I just thought-“  
  
Byleth leans across the table and kisses him, her hands going to his face to pull him closer to her. He’s surprised, at first, but finds himself responding anyway, closing his eyes, placing one hand on her hip and the other at the back of her neck. There’s a strange scraping sound, and he realises that Byleth is moving her chair around the table, her lips still very much attached to his.

It’s not the most comfortable place to kiss, Felix thinks, so he breaks away, staring at her wordlessly for a moment before he can figure out how to articulate what he’s trying to say. She’s the one to act, though, pushing the teaching materials off the table and onto the floor in one fell swoop. She hops up onto the edge, and Felix chases her, standing from his own seat and standing in front of her, Byleth’s height elevated so they’re now looking into each other’s eyes.

She reaches for him again, and they meet in the middle, hot kisses that go straight to Felix’s brain, making him feel lightheaded and weak in the knees. He can’t even touch her properly, bracing himself against the table as she pulls him ever closer to her. One of her legs hooks around his waist, forcing Felix further forward, his hands landing on either side of her head as their mouths break apart. Not content with this, Felix dives in once again.

This time, he presses kisses along her jaw line, open mouthed kisses down her neck, pushing the collar of her turtleneck down to bite at the join of her shoulder. Byleth’s hands travel back upwards to his shoulders, bracing herself against his onslaught of affection. He stops, and she stares up at him, eyes wide and glittering. Felix finds his mouth impossibly dry.

“Maybe… maybe we should…” she manages to say, her breathing coming fast and hot against his neck. It’s just like the first lesson all over again, except this time Felix doesn’t feel bad for having these thoughts about the radio producer. At the back of his mind, Felix registers that it was her suggestion to come over here tonight, rather than stay at her place with her dad. Maybe this was her plan all along?  
  
“Stop?” He asks, hoping she’ll say no to that, but if it’s what she wants, he’s happy to let go of her.

“No. I was thinking more… keep going. Elsewhere. If… you want to.”  
  
“Yes,” he breathes. “Um… okay. Let’s do this, then.”

* * *

_@TakeMeOut:  
  
Guess who just got laid! And guess what again! It wasn’t me!  
  
@GoldenDeer replied:  
  
Did it happen?!  
  
@TakeMeOut replied:  
  
Yes! Finally! I’ve been waiting for weeks! But I had my bets on months, so this is a welcome surprise._


	9. Lacrimosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she’s not in her crimson power suits, she looks a lot less intimidating. Rather than her buns and ornate hair accessories, she sits opposite him with her hair down, in a red turtleneck and a black coat, ready to make an escape as soon as she’s allowed to. The eagle brooch she’s seen wearing so frequently is also missing from her attire. Edelgard looks younger, somehow, with her hair down, and Linhardt is inclined to believe that her whole get up is solely so that people will believe in her cause.

“Good evening, everyone,” Linhardt’s voice comes, smooth over the airwaves. “Welcome back to Eagles Radio, I am your host, Linhardt von Hevring. Tonight we’re going to explore gothic rock,” he says, reading off a little card in front of him. On the other side of the desk, Edelgard nods, giving him a thumbs up.

“There are a surprising number of bands in the greater Garreg Mach area that would define themselves as gothic rock, even if to a normal listener’s ears, all rock sounds the same. I will openly admit to being one of those listeners – a lot of music sort of sounds the same to me. I’m quite picky about what I listen to. But I have educated myself,” Linhardt explains, “and I have come to the conclusion that a lot of the differences are subtle, but do make a difference to their sound. First of all tonight is a band that plays in the south of the city, Homeward. Hope you enjoy.”  
  
Linhardt presses play on the song, and allows himself a sigh as he listens to the song. He’s doing a good job of not saying that he thinks all of this stuff he’s being forced to play is terrible, in his opinion at least. He can’t say anything now, in front of Edelgard, because her band’s genre is gothic rock, and he doesn’t want to end up in her bad books any more than he already is.

Edelgard makes jibes at him often, hinting that his performance is substandard and he’s on her list of people to go should she get ample reason. Linhardt doesn’t really care – working at the radio isn’t really life or death for him, but it would be a reason to not see Marianne anymore, which isn’t something Linhardt particularly wants to miss out on. Even the thought of the blue haired presenter makes him smile, making Edelgard give him a strange look.

When she’s not in her crimson power suits, she looks a lot less intimidating. Rather than her buns and ornate hair accessories, she sits opposite him with her hair down, in a red turtleneck and a black coat, ready to make an escape as soon as she’s allowed to. The eagle brooch she’s seen wearing so frequently is also missing from her attire. Edelgard looks younger, somehow, with her hair down, and Linhardt is inclined to believe that her whole get up is solely so that people will believe in her cause.

He doesn’t believe in her cause, he thinks with a roll of his eyes as the song ends. If he could, he’d work for another radio station – wouldn’t it be funny if he went to work for Seiros FM? Linhardt thinks that Edelgard would probably explode with rage, which is quite an amusing image.

“We have a special guest on our show tonight,” Linhardt says, but I’m going to wait just a little while longer to introduce you all to her. First, we’ll play another few songs. This next one is from Underground. They don’t define themselves as even being a rock band, but this song is particularly gothic both in lyrics and sound.” As soon as the song begins, Edelgard pounces.  
  
“Why are you making me wait so long?” She asks, tapping her manicured but short nails against the table. The length doesn’t really help her cause – it doesn’t make an effective sound.  
  
“Well, I’ve never had a guest on this show before,” Linhardt says, shrugging his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure where to slot you in. So you’re near the end.”

“Well, slot me in earlier. Change your schedule.”  
  
“I don’t think I can.”  
  
“Linhardt, I have places to be,” Edelgard sighs. “Like home.”

“I think your two gay housemates can wait a few more minutes for you to cook them their dinner, don’t you? Besides, the traffic getting out of the car park is dreadful at this time of day.”  
  
“You don’t drive,” she points out.   
  
“I have eyes.”

Edelgard sets her mouth in a straight line, narrowing her eyes at her employee, who merely smiles in response. He slips his headphones back over his ears, and enjoys the last section of the song.

“Now, that was Underground, with Keep It Up. Next up is a singer who was originally from the Alliance, but now resides here in Garreg Mach City. Here’s Maya, with her new song, heard for the first time here tonight on Eagles Radio. This is Midnight.”

This time, Linhardt doesn’t give Edelgard even a glance out of the corner of his eye, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on his computer, and the comments that his show has received in the last fifteen minutes. They’re mostly positive, with the odd snarky comment aimed at his presenting style. In the earlier days of his career, this would really have bothered him, but Linhardt doesn’t have it in him to care about things like that anymore.

When the song fades out, he turns to Edelgard with a smile, sickly sweet. He knows he’s torturing her, but it’s so hard not to annoy his boss. She gestures to her watch, he raises an eyebrow. He’ll be fired if she doesn’t get her spiot right now, that much is clear. And as much as Linhardt enjoys tormenting Edelgard, he can’t really be bothered dealing with being fired right now.

“Now, onto the segment of the show that we’re all the most excited for. Last week, I announced I’d have a special guest on with me, and online, you’ve spent the week speculating as to who it might be. I can confirm for everyone now that with me today is one Edelgard von Hresvelg, CEO of Eagles Radio and lead guitarist for Strike Force. How are you today, boss?”  
  
“Enough of that,” Edelgard laughs. Her tone says joking, her eyes say serious. “No need to refer to me so seriously on air. But I’m doing well, thank you. Yourself?”  
  
“I’m good too.” Linhardt swallows hard – Edelgard is out to make this as difficult for him as possible. She has an image she needs to continue to cultivate, something that can only be done through those suits that never quite fit her, Linhardt hasn’t failed to notice, and the sickly-sweet smile that she displays when she’s trying to win over an audience. Of course, this doesn’t extend to on stage – there, she’s cutthroat, glares at the audience, taps her long silver ring on the pickboard of her guitar when she’s not playing.

“Now,” Linhardt says, clearing his throat. “You have an exciting announcement for us tonight, isn’t that correct?”  
  
“Yes,” Edelgard says, clearing her own throat. “I am here tonight to announce Strike Force’s debut album.”  
  
“You heard it here first, folks. Strike Force are putting out their very own album. Now, you’re not the first band from Garreg Mach to produce an album in their attempts to make it into the big time. Not many of those who have preceded you have actually managed to make it big, though. How are you better than those who have come before?”  
  
“We’re hard working. That’s at the core of the band – all five of us are determined to make a success out of ourselves. Not to mention, we have some excellent musicians – Caspar loves making sound, Ferdinand’s enthusiasm is second to none, Hubert keeps us all calm, I… well, I like to think I know what I’m doing. And Dorothea is the heart and soul of the band. We’d be nothing without her voice.”  
  
“On a previous interview for Seiros FM, you talked about Dorothea-“  
  
“I don’t want to talk about that Seiros FM interview, sorry, Linhardt.”  
  
“Alright,” Linhardt says, raising an eyebrow. “Anyway, you all seem to rely on Dorothea an awful lot. What makes her so special?”  
  
“Dorothea is her own special sort of magic. She can sing anything – she’s trained classically, but loves musical theatre the most. She can sing pop, and does, professionally, as a backing singer. She can do literally any style that we choose to do – often gothic rock, hence why we’re on this show today. But she can do screamo too, which is something that you might get to hear on the album.”  
  
“Strike Force goes screamo, alright,” Linhardt nods, genuinely finding that an interesting move. He smiles at Edelgard in approval, and she seems to relax a little. “Give us the details, then. When can we expect the album?”  
  
“We’ll be putting the album out on the sixteenth of the Lone Moon – that’s a Friday. But before then, we’re releasing a single, which you can stream and download from right now. And I’ve asked Linhardt to play our newest song on tonight’s show too.”  
  
“That’s right, you’ll hear the song at the end of the show, if you stick around that long. Don’t forget to pre-order Strike Force’s new album, _Lacrimosa_ , available now from wherever you get your music from. And that’s not all, is it?”  
  
“No,” Edelgard says, sounding as if she’s struggling to keep a lid on her excitement levels. “We are embarking on a tour of Fódlan. Strike Force will be on tour for four months, starting and ending in Garreg Mach. This does mean taking a leave of absence from the Radio for a while, but we’ll be back, and though I’ll rarely be in the building, I’ll still be monitoring everything remotely.”  
  
“That sounds like a hint, Edelgard. Are you trying to tell me to behave myself in your absence?”  
  
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I know you’re the resident trouble maker, Linhardt. Keep yourself together.”

“No need to worry about that.” He laughs, and Edelgard gives her own nervous titter in response. “We’ll be playing Strike Force’s new single at the end of the hour, so stay tuned if you want to be one of the first to hear it. But for now, here’s a new song…”

* * *

_{Dimitri} Have you heard about this?  
  
{Sylvain} Strike force are doing well for themselves! I’m glad – maybe I can get a date with Dorothea now_

_{Ingrid} I think you’ll struggle more now than you did before. You’d have to chase her all around the country in order for her to even think about paying attention to you_

_{Sylvain} You wound me_

_{Sylvain} Does that mean I have a chance with you, then, Ingrid dearest?  
  
{Felix} She wouldn’t/shouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole_

_{Felix} You definitely have something that shouldn’t be passed around_

_{Sylvain} you always wound me so, dearest Felix_

_{Felix} Why are you always calling people dearest now_

_{Dimitri} What are we going to do about this?_

_{Ingrid} There’s nothing much we can do_

_{Ingrid} Just have to hope and pray_

_{Ingrid} I’ll see if I can get us sorted with some new gigs_

* * *

If there’s one thing Felix hates more than working the close, it’s working afternoons when he knows Sylvain is coming in with a date. He spends the entire shift antsy, and ends up snapping at the other staff members, even though he’s the supervisor and he’s supposed to be in charge.

When he sees the flash of ginger hair outside in the rapidly darkening street, Felix feels his stomach drop. It’s only half an hour until he gets to go home, and yet Sylvain has to arrive now with his date in tow. It’s some girl with blonde hair that Felix doesn’t recognise, but she looks suspiciously like Ingrid did a few years ago before she cut her hair.

“Hey!” Sylvain says. Felix raises an eyebrow – he’s seen this trick a million times before. Sylvain has dated so many girls before, taken so many specifically here, that Felix knows what his game is. “I’ll have a cappuccino.”  
  
“To go?” Felix asks, as a way of a hint.

“No, sitting in. You’re not that busy anymore.”

“Yeah, whatever. And you?”  
  
“Caramel Frappuccino, please,” she asks sweetly.

“What’s your name? You know he asked you here because he doesn’t remember your name? What would you have done if I hadn’t asked, Sylvain?”

“Of course he knows my name!” The girl says, glancing up at Sylvain. “Right, Sylvain? Tell him!”  
  
Sylvain is quiet for too long. The girl’s expectant smile slowly melts away, slowly replaced by anger, clear for everyone to see. She glares at Sylvain with a venom that doesn’t suit her aesthetic, and stamps on Sylvain’s foot for good measure as she storms away. Felix lets out a low whistle as the bell chimes above the door with her exit.

“Fuck you,” Sylvain says, though he doesn’t really look all that hurt.

“Do you still want that cappuccino?” Felix asks, with no regard for his feeling.

“Make it a filter coffee.”  
  
“You really are a cheapskate.”

Monday afternoons in the café really are quiet. Truthfully, Sylvain is glad that his date, whatever her name was, left, because now he gets to hang out with Felix for the last part of his shift before their band meeting. Neither of them understand why Ingrid chose to have it here – maybe she knew that Felix had no intention of coming if it was in their flat again.

As Felix clocks out, somewhere out the back, Ingrid comes flying through the door to her own coffee shop. Sylvain raises an eyebrow as she approaches him, holding a hand out to stop her from falling into him. Ingrid has always been the most athletic of the four of them, but she must have run for miles, as she’s completely out of breath. Her hair is all messed up, and Sylvain carefully fixes her parting as she catches her breath.

“Where is Constance?” Ingrid asks, barely breathing.

“Don’t worry about it,” comes Sylvain’s evasive answer. Ingrid grips onto his shoulder, still trying to catch her breath.

“It’s a disaster. Where’s Felix?” She manages eventually.

“Right here,” he says, appearing behind her, work apron discarded and heavy jacket on instead.

“Sit down,” she instructs. Felix doesn’t like doing what he’s told, but he will for Ingrid. “I spoke to Dimitri this morning on the phone. He’s quit the band.”  
  
“What the fuck?” Felix asks, while Sylvain’s jaw goes slack.

“He can’t just do that!”   
  
“He did,” Ingrid explains. “Says we’re not going anywhere, if we were, we would have been there by now, and there was no point in continuing.”  
  
“We have a gig on Friday,” Felix remembers. “What are we going to do about that?”  
  
“We’ll figure something out. For now, we need to work on getting Dimitri back. I heard that Garreg Mach are announcing some big arts festival at the end of the week, and if there’s any chance of us doing some music thing at it, I’d love to get us involved.”  
  
“How do we get Dimitri back, though?” Sylvain asks. “I texted him earlier on an unrelated reason and got no response.”  
  
“I tried texting him too, and nothing. I think his phone’s turned off.”  
  
“This is because of Edelgard,” Felix realises suddenly. Two pairs of eyes fall on him. “I mean it. He kept going on and on about how annoyed he was that she was making the big time with her band – she got on Byleth’s show weeks before we did. They announced a single, album and a tour last week. He can’t be happy about that.”

“You’re right. He was yelling at me that night at the radio about it too,” Ingrid remembers, shuddering slightly. Sylvain looks concerned – clearly he remembers that too.

“I hope he’s not going to do anything stupid,” Sylvain says. “I know that… he’s got some problems. Mental illness. I can’t think that this is anything other than that. He used to get along really well with Edelgard. And he’s never _wanted_ to be a rock star, or anything.”  
  
“I know,” Ingrid says gravely. “We’ll just have to… hope he comes around. Be there for him when he does.”  
  
“When I pointed this out to you a few weeks ago, that he was spiralling again, neither of you listened to me,” Felix says, his usual scowl coming over his face. “You never listen to me when it comes to him. He’s been unwell for a long time. And he’s never gotten enough help.”  
  
“Felix, we do listen. To both of you.”  
  
“Count me out of Friday’s show too,” he says, turning towards the door. “I’m not leaving. Just no point in doing anything without Dimitri.”

* * *

_@GarregMach:  
  
Keep your eyes peeled over the next few days for a big announcement from Garreg Mach City’s arts council! We know you all work so hard, and it’s time to show the world your talents!”  
  
@LorenzHellmanGlo:_

_Garreg Mach’s government have been working hard on this Wednesday’s announcement! I hope you’re all as excited as I am!  
  
@OrdeliaMusic replied:  
  
Are you not on the arts council_

_@LorenzHellmanGlo replied:  
  
I’ll put your rent up, don’t be rude._

_@GoldenDeer replied:  
  
You wouldn’t because you know I’d tattle on you to your dad. Anyway, Lysithea, are we going to hear about the mysterious DJ that’s taking GMU students by storm?  
  
@OrdeliaMusic replied:  
  
I have no idea what you’re talking about_


	10. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you here? I thought you… you said you weren’t playing tonight, when we talked.”
> 
> “Yeah, I’m not. I’m here to laugh at Sylvain embarrassing himself in front of all these people.”

Cassandra Charon hasn’t been working in government for that long. She was a sports star in her late teens and early twenties, and gave that up when she snapped a tendon in her lower leg. She wasn’t far off retirement regardless, but it still felt terrible to have to quit so suddenly.

Cassandra was too fancy a name for any normal job, though it got her far in the sports world. So she changed her name to Catherine, and worked her way up through the ranks in Garreg Mach’s government. This began in the births, marriages, and deaths register, before she joined the sports council, and then became head of the arts council. She knew absolutely nothing about the arts, other than that her wife had been in a band when she was in her twenties, and that’s how they met.

Today she stands in front of a camera in the government building, with Lorenz behind the camera, giving her a thumbs up. Behind her is a set up for a band, and the other three members of Golden Deer hover off to the side, out of shot. Lorenz gives her the thumbs up to start talking as Lysithea presses go on the livestream.

“Welcome one and all, my name is Catherine Charon, head of Garreg Mach’s arts council. I hope you’re all having a fine Wednesday afternoon, and I thank you for joining us. We announced earlier in the week that we’ve been planning some very exciting events, and I’m here today to tell you all about them.”  
  
“Over the next few months, our budget will be increasing. This means that we’re able to support more businesses – music shops, engineers, composers, theatre groups, art galleries. Not only that, but we want to help individual artists. Starting from the twenty-sixth of next month, we’ll be opening a new exhibit in the Indech Gallery, of art from local artists. This will be submission based, with a few pieces specially commissioned for the exhibition. More details will be announced on that later today – please keep an eye on the Facebook page and website if you’re interested.

“Now to the bit that interests me the most. Behind me you can see that we’ve got a whole band set up. Two months from today, Garreg Mach City Government will be hosting a battle of the bands competition! The local music scene has blown up recently, with Seiros FM, Alliance Sounds and Eagles Radio stations all having shows broadcasting local talent to the city.  
  
“There will be auditions – any recording of your band is good enough. Sign-ups will be live from Friday until the end of the month, and then we’ll review each submission on an individual basis. For the actual competition, each band will be expected to perform one original song and one cover song. Isn’t that exciting?!”  
  
Catherine looks excited, Ingrid thinks, hiding her phone under the counter at work. She’s lucky Felix isn’t in today, otherwise he would have something negative to say. The cogs are turning in Ingrid’s brain, though. This is the sort of thing that Sylvain always joked would be fun to do – albeit when they were in school. But there’s nothing stopping them from finding it fun now, too, except perhaps that Dimitri has left the band.

But there’s two months until the competition, which in Ingrid’s opinion is plenty of time to get him back on side again. She has all their recordings, and can sign them up easily. It’s just a matter of them getting in, but Ingrid reckons she can pull some strings and get them accepted. Dimitri works for the government too, though in a different department – maybe seeing his name will swing their entry?  
  
Back on the live stream, Catherine shuffles to the side as the Golden Deer take their positions behind their instruments, each of them looking ridiculously out of place in their over the top matching outfits cramped into a small office space. Ingrid hopes that for the sanity of the rest of the workers, that office is soundproofed.

“Now, to kick things off, we’ve managed to secure a booking of Claude von Riegan, and his Golden Deer! Enjoy everyone, and hope to see you at one of our many events soon!”  
  
Claude’s eyes don’t leave Hilda as she plays them in, bouncing up and down on the spot. Her pink bass does a disservice to her music – her image and the sounds she produces are completely at war with one another. But Ingrid thinks it’s funny, really, because the rest of the musicians she knows are so straightlaced and serious. Hilda is an anomaly – she’s just doing this for fun.

Lorenz is easily the most uncomfortable out of the four of them – it’s his work place, and he’s standing there in white jeans and a purple sparkly jacket. He doesn’t look at the camera, or the other band members, staring just at his hands. Leonie seems to be enjoying herself the most – making the most noise possible with a huge grin on her face. Ingrid finds herself smiling too, before she gets distracted by a customer.

She’s still thinking, as she steams milk and pours it into espresso. Strike Force can’t be at the battle of the bands, she reckons – they’ll be on tour. Underground might be competition, but she’s never met any of their members bar Constance, and that wasn’t for long enough to get a proper reading on her. And that means Blue Lion’s biggest competition is Claude von Reigan and his ego.

Maybe they do have a chance of winning after all.

* * *

_{Sylvain} what are we doing about Friday  
_ _{Sylvain} I’m worried_

_{Ingrid} No idea.  
_ _{Ingrid} Any good ideas?  
_ _{Ingrid} Also why are you texting me? Are you not home?_

_  
{Sylvain} I am I just don’t want to get up  
_ _{Sylvain} But I did sort of have an idea  
_ _{Sylvain} Don’t kill me though_

_{Ingrid} I won’t I promise_

_{Sylvain} Promise promise?_

_{Ingrid} Yes sylvain_

_{Sylvain} Acoustic set, you and me_

_{Ingrid} Seriously? I can’t play most of your songs, and I’m out of practice_

_{Sylvain} It’ll be fine! I trust you. Plus we can practice_

_{Ingrid} Hm. I’ll think about it_

_{Sylvain} Covers?  
{Sylvain} Joni Mitchell?_

_{Ingrid} You’re speaking my language now Sylvain, and you’re playing a dangerous game_

* * *

Byleth shakes snow out of her hair as she enters the bar. It’s certainly not the biggest place she’s ever been for a gig, but it has a nice atmosphere, and everyone seems to be excited for Blue Lions to play. They’re not getting Blue Lions – she’s aware of that thanks to their social media. But either their fans seem not to care or they don’t know – she hopes for their sake that it’s the former.

Spotting a brooding dark-haired man at the other end of the bar, his back to the stage, Byleth orders a drink and sidles up towards him. She hops up onto a stool beside him, and Felix turns his head and fixes her with a look. The bartender sets her drink down in front of her, she takes a sip, and waits for Felix to speak first.

“Why are you here?” He asks. She can’t tell from his facial expression if her presence is a good thing or not. She hopes it is – she quite likes Felix, and he seems to like her too, most of the time at least.

“Working, technically. They decided I don’t do enough to make the money I do, so now I have to write online content too. So I’m going to gigs almost every night and writing reviews.”  
  
“Sounds tiring.”  
  
“Why are _you_ here? I thought you… you said you weren’t playing tonight, when we talked.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m not. I’m here to laugh at Sylvain embarrassing himself in front of all these people.”

“I am _not_ going to embarrass myself,” Sylvain proclaims from behind Felix. He rolls his eyes before swivelling round on his stool.

“Yes you are. You always do, and this is hardly going to be an exception to the rule.”

“Are you two together now?” Sylvain asks, effectively changing the subject.

“No,” they answer simultaneously.

“Alright, okay! No need for the glares. I was simply curious. Anyway, glad you’re both here. You better write an amazing review.”  
  
“I’ll do my best,” Byleth says, not promising anything when she has no idea what she’s going to see. Without Felix’s guitar or Dimitri’s voice, Blue Lions isn’t really Blue Lions. But as she’s come to realise, it is Sylvain that is the heart of the band, so maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Sylvain saunters away, approaching Ingrid, who stands beside their hastily put together merch stand with her arms folded. The merch was mostly her idea – a CD of all their originals (not that anyone uses CDs any more) and a few stickers and badges. It’s not much, but as long as it all sells eventually Ingrid won’t feel bad about spending hard earned band money on it.

“Who is this?” Ingrid asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the girl behind the table, who looks afraid that Ingrid is going to kill her.  
  
“Uh, Annette?”  
  
“Who, another one of your girlfriends?”  
  
“No! You know, Annette from school! Sang in the choir. Year below you.”  
  
“Oh,” Ingrid says, turning to Annette, who waves nervously. Realising her mistake, Ingrid flushes red in embarrassment. “Oh! Sorry Annette. You look so different!”

“Well, it has been a while. No harm done!”  
  
“I asked her to help with the merch table because you’re playing, and I don’t trust Felix to,” Sylvain explains.

Ingrid nods at this – she doesn’t trust Felix either. Annette, on the other hand, she trusts wholeheartedly (even if she didn’t recognise her at first). She was one of the few girls in school that never fell victim to Sylvain’s tricks, actively ignored them in fact, and still managed to get along with him as a fellow musician. She had always had Ingrid’s undying respect for that.

She apologises once again as the bar’s owner gets up onto the stage to introduce them. Her keyboard is already set up on the stage, and Sylvain slings his guitar strap over his shoulder as he follows her on stage. They both look nervous, but take a few deep breaths and find themselves laughing.

“Hi, everyone,” Sylvain says. “We are… sort of, but not really, Blue Lions. Dimitri isn’t well at the minute, so we’re having to postpone some of our gigs until he’s better.” Not a lie, Ingrid thinks – well done Sylvain for coming up with a believable excuse. “Felix is at the bar because he’s having a huff, so don’t offer to buy him a drink. Beside me tonight I have the lovely Ingrid Galatea, one of the original members of Blue Lions who actively hates playing in front of people.”  
  
Ingrid waves nervously as their gathered crowd applauds. Annette cheers loudly from her table, and Ingrid is pleased to note that even Felix seems to be smiling.

“We’re going to kick off with some Blue Lions classics. Hope you enjoy.”  
  
The music sounds so different when played acoustically. Felix’s aggressive guitar riffs and solos are replaced with Ingrid’s fingers flying across the keys and Sylvain arpeggiating any chord he can think of. It’s a different vibe entirely, and somehow brings a new meaning to the music.

“They suck,” Felix mumbles into Byleth’s ear.

“No, they’re good. But hearing your songs like this… that sucks.”  
  
“They’re all Sylvain’s songs, none of Dimitri’s. Maybe they were supposed to be played this way.”  
  
Felix doesn’t miss how Sylvain turns his head while singing to look at Ingrid, and how she doesn’t look back at him, not even once. She concentrates on the songs that she doesn’t know off the top of her head like the rest of them do, humming harmonies into her microphone.

“Don’t know why he’s still so into her,” Felix grumbles. “It’s embarrassing.”  
  
“You don’t think she likes him back?” Byleth asks, keeping her eyes firmly on the stage.

“You do?”  
  
“I don’t think she would’ve agreed to something she ‘actively hates’ if she didn’t,” Byleth points out. “I know you know them much better than I ever will, but… I don’t know. I think it’s less one sided than you think.”

Felix hums at that, and watches Ingrid more intently. She turns her head to Sylvain at the end of the song, and offers him a smile as she steps back from the keyboard. Sylvain returns her smile as Ingrid begins to play, the introduction to her favourite song, her eyes fixed on Sylvain.   
  
His voice cuts through the silence of the bar, so different from all the songs that they’ve performed thus far. Ingrid keeps watching Sylvain, and while he faces forwards, his eyes constantly slide across to meet to hers. This song sounds sad, something unsaid falling from Sylvain’s voice, lower than the original song. Ingrid’s hesitation on the pauses and through the outro makes Felix almost gag – Byleth is right.

He turns his head away from the stage, not wanting to interrupt what is clearly a private moment between Ingrid and Sylvain. He ignores Sylvain’s closing remarks, doesn’t clap along when everyone else does. He stays in his seat while everyone floods Annette at the merch stand, clearly not minding the different format too much. This is a strange observation, and Felix doesn’t know what to do about it.

“I think we need to talk,” Byleth mumbles. He nods, and takes her hand as she leads him out into the street.

It’s quiet out here – not quite time for the numerous bars along this stretch of road to let out. The street glows orange from the streetlights, and various shades of pink and blue and green from the neon signs that adorn the buildings. Taxis fly past, trying to make it to the busier areas of town before all hell breaks loose. Felix leans against the brick building, and Byleth hovers nervously in front of him.

“You left, the other day. In the middle of the night. Which I could almost understand, had you not continued to text me.”

“Yeah… sorry, I guess.”  
  
“I just think it was weird. We were having fun, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I definitely enjoyed myself. But… I don’t know. It felt weird. Like… I panicked, okay?”  
  
“It’s okay,” Byleth says. “You don’t need to defend every action to me. But if you have to leave in the middle of the night, next time, I’d maybe like some warning.”  
  
“Next time, huh?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow. He’d been wondering if there was any point in hoping for a next time – perhaps it could be tonight, if they managed to hail down one of the passing taxis.

“If that’s something you’d be interested in.”  
  
“Mark me down as interested. I think it sounds like a great idea.”  
  
Felix reaches for Byleth, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in close. He doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t give her that satisfaction. He just stares into her eyes, trying to figure out what’s going on in her brain.

“I heard you’re in a bad mood with Dimitri,” she says. That kills the mood, and Felix drops his arms, crossing them over his chest instead.

“He’s been causing us issues for years.”  
  
“I thought you liked him? You all seem to get along so well.”

“He has a lot of issues. He knows when they’re coming on, seemingly, because he runs off, and abandons all his problems behind him. If he ever stopped for a moment and asked for help, the four of us would definitely all lead easier lives.”

“So he’s done this before, then?”

“A few times. This seems worse, somehow. I have no idea why. Well, you noticed it too, before. Usually, people who don’t know him well don’t notice.”

“Have you gone looking for him?” Byleth asks, and Felix rolls his eyes in response.

“No way. It doesn’t make a difference whether we know where he is or not. He won’t listen.”  
  
“That seems selfish.”

“Byleth, you don’t understand. He won’t listen.”  
  
“But you’re making no effort! You don’t know if Dimitri wants you to reach out or…”  
  
“I’m telling you, it won’t make a difference,” Felix says, his sarcastic scowl turning into a proper glare.

“You sound like a child, Felix,” Byleth says, taking a few steps away from him. “It’s like you’re not even willing to entertain the idea of trying to check up on Dimitri. You… you don’t care. You know, that’s something that I’m realising about you – you didn’t want to tell the other band members about the lessons. You leave your own flat in the middle of the night. You don’t speak to Dimitri when he’s in trouble. You don’t play with Ingrid and Sylvain. You’re selfish and uncaring, Felix Fraldarius.”  
  
“Byleth, I-“  
  
“Don’t speak to me until you’ve figured out what to do about Dimitri. You need to sort things out, for the good of all four of you. Use your energy on that instead.”  
  
Byleth stalks off, heeled boots clacking against the street. Felix peels himself off the wall to watch her go, and kicks at a small pile of snow that hasn’t quite melted yet.

* * *

_@INeedANap:  
  
Tune in again tonight when I dissect the difference between bebop and free jazz. There is a lot of difference. I will also play some examples of both before we listen to some local musicians._

_@MVonMartritz replied:  
  
Oh honey, why are you putting them through this?  
  
@INeedANap replied:_

_Funny_

_@Flayn replied:_  
  
I look forward to it!


	11. Can't Take My Eyes Off You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never asked for your help,” Dimitri says. “So I don’t mind. I’m just glad that we are friends. And I’m glad that you wanted to help me, even if you didn’t want to tell me that.”
> 
> “Sylvain.”
> 
> “He’s a reliable source of information,” Dimitri laughs. He stifles a yawn before stuffing his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. “Where are we going, exactly?”
> 
> “Where do you think?” Felix says, turning to Dimitri with a grin. “Band practice.”

When Linhardt asked Marianne if she wanted to hang out outside the coffee shop, never in her life did she expect that their first outing would be to Seiros FM. Not that she’s complaining – it’s nice to have company with her when she’s going for a job interview that could potentially change her life.

She’s prepared, as much as she can be, at least. She’s researched the station, the company, the people who run it. She’s looked into their values and their business model and has memorised all of that on top of remembering that they want someone who can talk normally in front of people first and foremost.

Though she’s glad of her companion, Marianne isn’t sure why Linhardt asked if he could come too. When he suggested meeting up some time, she thought he was asking her on a date, and she’s a little embarrassed to realise now that that wasn’t the case at all. He mostly seems to want to be nosy, and she can’t blame him – he works for Seiros FM’s biggest competitor.

As they enter the lobby, Linhardt hangs by the door as Marianne approaches the receptionist to ask where she should go. Benches surround the floor to ceiling windows, and he gingerly takes a seat. Further along the bench on his side of the door sits a girl with similarly coloured green hair and a laptop, who immediately slides along ten metres or so of bench to sit beside him.

“Hello!” She greets. Linhardt isn’t quite sure what she’s so enthusiastic about.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” He asks, wrinkling his nose at her.

“I have no classes this afternoon. I’m waiting for my dad to finish work,” she explains.

“Does your dad work here?”  
  
“Yes,” she says, looking at him blankly. Stupid question, Linhardt thinks. He has no idea how to talk to children. This girl could only be five years younger than him, and yet he has completely forgotten what he was like five years ago. “He’s on air right now, actually.”  
  
“Oh, your dad is Seteth?”  
  
“That’s the one! My name’s Flayn. And you’re Linhardt von Hevring, am I right?”  
  
“That I am,” Linhardt says, more and more confused as this conversation progresses.

As far as he’s aware, Flayn spends a lot of time on the internet, tweeting about Garreg Mach and how great it is. She’s popular with kids her own age – teenage girls, mostly. But she’s replied to lots of Linhardt’s tweets over the past few years, which has given him a slightly bigger following in return. She’s also popular with middle aged women, but that’s probably because she seems desperate to find her dad a girlfriend.

“I love your show! But I probably shouldn’t say that in here.”  
  
“No, you can say it. I think you’re probably being too quiet about it, in fact.” Flayn laughs at that, shutting her laptop.

“If my dad heard me talking about Eagles Radio like that, he’d probably have my head. Well, in front of Aunt Rhea, anyway. Outside of that… he probably wouldn’t care too much.”  
  
“Rhea is your aunt?” Linhardt asks – now there is a startling revelation.

“Yes! She’s very scary sometimes, but she is nice.”

“Interesting. I suppose you’ll go into radio then too, when you’re older?” He raises an eyebrow at her – it seems like nepotism runs in the company. But Flayn shakes her head, and Linhardt finds himself almost mesmerised by how bouncy her hair is.

“No. I hate it. Probably because that’s what everyone else does. I did work experience for Garreg Mach’s government at the start of the year. I helped do the graphics for the arts festival! Catherine says that I can come back to do a few weeks in the evenings at the gallery, and I’m really excited about that.”  
  
“Oh. Well, that’s nice for you.”  
  
“Why are you here, then, Linhardt?” Flayn questions, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh! Are you being interviewed?”  
  
“No. My friend is, though. I’m here to support her.”  
  
“With the blue hair? She’s very pretty.”  
  
“Isn’t she? I hope she does well – she really wants this job.”  
  
“Aunt Rhea only interviews people she believes in. It’s her philosophy! She listens to their work, makes sure to tune in while they’re live before inviting them here.”

“Well, that bodes well for her, doesn’t it?” Linhardt murmurs, his eyes casting in the direction that Marianne disappeared to.

The woman in question sits on a rickety folding chair outside an interview room, straining to hear what the candidate before her is being asked. He seemed nice, for the few minutes that they spoke. He worked for Radio Moon, and seemed to be being interviewed for an entirely different position than she was. He writes radio plays, he told her, and that’s what he’s going to be doing here, all being well. She didn’t tell him what she was doing, too scared to speak the words into existence.

Ashe appears out of the room, and gives her a thumbs up and a gentle smile before taking off down the corridor. He seems to have a spring in his step, Marianne notes – hopefully it went well for him. Her hands curl into fists beside her in an attempt to shake the nervous feeling that’s almost overwhelming her.  
  
“Marianne von Edmund?” A voice calls from just in front of her.

She looks up to see Rhea, Seiros FM’s CEO. She’s seen pictures of the woman before, but nothing could really prepare Marianne for seeing her in real life. She’s half a foot taller than Marianne, accounting for her white patent shoes. She wears a tightly fitting white tailored suit, with a large gold necklace and an equally flashy headband adorned with gold lilies and pearls. She smiles at Marianne, and steps aside for her to enter the interview room.

It surprises Marianne that it’s only the two of them – she thought that for a job like this there would almost certainly be a panel of interviewers. But Marianne sits opposite Rhea, smoothing out her skirt, and waits for the woman to ask her a question.

“Marianne. How are you today?”  
  
“I’m well,” she answers. It’s a strange question when asked with the formal tone that Rhea has. Marianne has never heard her voice before now, and she wonders why Rhea is never on the radio – it’s a calming voice, not entirely dissimilar to that of Mercedes von Martritz on Radio Moon.

“I’m glad you could make it today. And I am very grateful for your application. As you know, Seiros FM is a church-based radio station, and as such we only hire those who believe in the goddess wholeheartedly. Of course, we are not going to force anyone to attend our services, or that of any church, but we do recommend that everyone attend a few services a year, especially the Saint Seiros Day one. After all, she is our namesake.”  
  
“Of course,” Marianne nods. While she wouldn’t describe herself as a devout believer, she does enjoy going to church as and when she can. It’s relaxing for her, getting to sing along to her favourite hymns and listen to readings from the Book of Seiros. She’s absolutely certain that the majority of people working for Seiros FM have lied about their religious beliefs, however – she’s well aware that the Seirosian religion is a dying one in Garreg Mach.

“I have listened to your shows on Alliance Sounds. You have a wonderful tone, Marianne. So rich and calm, so in control of what you’re saying. Those are qualities we would love to have on our team here at Seiros FM.”  
  
“I’m glad you think so,” Marianne mumbles. Rhea is intimidating, and she can barely look her in the eye.

“So shy,” Rhea laughs. “I would love to offer you the position, based on your previous works and such an impressive resume. Of course, this would be on a week-long trial period, followed by a three-month probationary period, and a six-month over-all review at the end.”  
  
“I… I would love to accept!” Marianne splutters. “It would be such an honour to work here.”  
  
“Of course,” Rhea says with a warm smile. “If you have any requests before starting, we would love to hear them, and we’ll try to accommodate them as best we can.” She spreads her hands flat on the table, and Marianne once again finds herself intimidated, this time by Rhea’s long white acrylic nails and the snake ring on the middle finger of her right hand.

“If it were at all possible, I would like to continue my work recording live music,” Marianne asks boldly – well, boldly for her anyway. Rhea laughs, a hearty laugh that feels almost condescending.

“Of course. I can put you in touch with our music team – perhaps Byleth Eisner could use another pair of hands. Oh, Marianne. I think you will fit in wonderfully here. When can you start?”  
  
“I have a two-week notice period, but if possible, I would like to request another week before I officially start. So… I can get my head around everything here in time for my first show.”  
  
“Two weeks, plus a week with no show. We’ll pay you all three of those weeks, though I’d like if you could come in on that last week so we can get you settled in. You know, a tour, giving you a parking space if you require one, meeting all your colleagues. You’ll report to Seteth – he does the morning shows, but is doing some afternoons as well currently, bless his soul.”  
  
“Sounds great to me,” Marianne says, nodding, keen to get out of this room with Rhea that seems increasingly claustrophobic.

“Alright, Marianne,” Rhea says, getting up from her seat, pushing it back with a scrape that makes Marianne wince. “I am glad to start working with you.”  
  
She holds out a hand for Marianne to shake – she stands too, and takes Rhea’s hand. Her grip is firm – almost but not quite _too_ firm. Her nails don’t dig into Marianne’s skin, but some miracle. She holds the door open for Marianne, and she can’t escape fast enough, down the corridor, down the stairs, across the lobby to where Linhardt waits.

“How’d it go?” He asks immediately, standing as soon as she approaches, ignoring the girl he was talking with in favour of Marianne. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
  
“I got the job,” Marianne says weakly.

“That’s great!”  
  
“Did you meet Aunt Rhea?” Flayn chirps up. Marianne looks at her as if she’s gone mad.

“Oh, this is Flayn,” Linhardt explains. “Rhea is… her aunt. Obviously.”  
  
“I did,” Marianne confirms.

“She’s terrifying, right? She’s a nice person, though. But honestly, you’ll probably never see her again.”

“What do you mean?” Linhardt asks.

“I mean, Rhea is barely involved in the running of the radio from day to day. So you’ll see her at services, if you go, and maybe in the corridors if you’re lucky. Or unlucky, whichever way you want to see it.”  
  
“That’s odd,” Linhardt comments. He takes a step closer to Marianne, and gently places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I think so,” Marianne says, forcing a smile. “It was nice to meet you, Flayn. Maybe I’ll see you around.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again,” Linhardt says, waving to Flayn and practically steering Marianne out the door.

With one hand, Linhardt opens an umbrella. He’s careful as he wraps his other arm around a still pale Marianne. He gives her plenty of time to move away, but instead she just shuffles closer to him, allowing him to pull her into his side. They fall into step, away from Seiros FM’s headquarters, down the street, back in the direction they came.

“Are you okay?” He repeats after five minutes of silence.  
  
“Yes,” Marianne answers, honestly this time. “She was just very intimidating. Thank you for being here with me today.”  
  
“No problem,” Linhardt says, his throat dry when Marianne tilts her head up and smiles at him. “Any time.”

* * *

_{Felix} Are you in  
_ _{Felix} It’s been half an hour. We’re coming over.  
_ _{Felix} We’re on the way  
_ _{Felix} We’re outside. Let us in._

_{Dimitri} Door’s open_

* * *

Felix isn’t wholly surprised by the state of Dimitri’s apartment. Truthfully, he expected it to be worse – he’s certainly seen it in worse condition before. There are clothes strewn around on the floor, which Sylvain kicks out of the way. The lights are all off, the curtains closed. Ingrid marches ahead, and finds Dimitri on his sofa, TV remote falling out of his hand, phone resting on his chest.

She walks past him and opens the curtains, sunlight streaming into the apartment. Dimitri covers his eyes with his arm, groaning. Sylvain wanders into the kitchen – it’s clean, at least – and gets Dimitri a glass of water.

“You know you have a roommate?” Ingrid asks, folding her arms across her chest and fixing Dimitri with the strongest glare she can muster. “This is inconsiderate to poor Dedue!”  
  
“He’s not here,” Dimitri points out.

“He’s at work. Where you should be. What’s going on?”  
  
Her tone softens with the last part, and she settles herself on the arm of the sofa, by Dimitri’s feet. Dimitri’s arm falls by his side, and he slowly opens his eye to look at Ingrid.

“Is this an intervention?”  
  
“Yes,” Felix barks. “You’re making life difficult for all of us.”  
  
“Hey,” Sylvain mumbles, elbowing Felix in the side.

Dimitri bites his lip, his gaze wandering across the room. Ingrid waits patiently, while Felix wanders out into the hall. Dimitri shifts a little, pulling himself upwards into a sitting position. He sighs, and takes a sip of the water that Sylvain set down.

“Edelgard,” Dimitri says eventually.

“I knew it,” comes Felix’s voice. Ingrid glares in his direction.

“What about her?”

“Why does she always get everything, while I’m left with nothing? She gets an album, and a single, and a tour, while we get terrible gigs in bars with sticky floors. Maybe it’s your fault, Ingrid. You’re not the best band manager in the world.”  
  
“Hey,” Sylvain warns. Felix sticks his head back in through the door.

“Don’t bring Ingrid into this. This is the third time you’ve had one of these episodes. Clearly, there’s something going on here that’s more than just jealousy about Edelgard’s music career.”  
  
“She has a dodgy business, you have a decently paying government job,” Ingrid points out. “Just because she has some connections, doesn’t mean that she’s better than you.”  
  
“But she is!” Dimitri argues. “She’s always been more successful than me. Better grades in school, more popular, she’s got a proper house while I live in this apartment.”  
  
“This is a nice apartment,” Sylvain points out. “And her house was free! It’s not like she paid for it.”  
  
“And no one really liked her in school,” Felix agrees. “She was popular, sure, because people wanted her money. People liked you. You still have friends – she has her weird vampire shadow and Ferdinand. And he was friends with everyone, so he doesn’t count.”  
  
“How do you remember all that?” Ingrid mumbles. “You didn’t talk to anyone apart from us.”  
  
“Not talking means spending a lot of time listening,” Felix says with a shrug.

Ingrid slides off the arm of the sofa and sits at the opposite end to Dimitri, legs curled under her. Dimitri looks up, and meets Ingrid’s eyes. She’s always been hard to read, he thinks. Maybe that’s why they get along so well – she’s too complicated for him to worry about what she thinks. And she was his first friend, way back when.

“Are you seeing a therapist?” She asks quietly. Dimitri shakes his head. “Would you be open to it?”  
  
“I think it’s probably about time,” he admits.   
  
“I’ll help you look for one,” Ingrid agrees. “But in the meantime, you need to get out of here. Get dressed. We’re going for a walk.”

He obliges with her request, albeit begrudgingly. Sylvain and Felix look almost impressed at how quickly Ingrid has managed to get him moving. Really, when they think about it, this has been a cry for help. Ingrid understands that, being as smart as she is. Dimitri disappears into his room, and returns moments later with a fresh outfit on. Felix throws his jacket at him, and the four of them set out.

“I’ll help you tidy later,” Sylvain offers, falling into step with Dimitri. “It’ll be easier with a helping hand.”  
  
“I’ll have to say sorry to Dedue,” he mumbles into the hood of his coat.

“I can help with that too. I know how hard life can be.”  
  
Dimitri regards Sylvain differently to his other friends. He’s older and wiser, and makes such an effort to appear cool. Even in the snow he refuses to wear a hat, afraid it’ll mess up his hair. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and practically saunters around. But he’s experienced his fair share of hardship over the years, and it’s easy to forget when he seems as effortless as he does.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says quietly. “I know this was your idea.”  
  
“They wanted to help,” Sylvain says, dropping his voice so that Felix and Ingrid don’t hear. “But Felix is terrible at dealing with emotions, and Ingrid has the best intentions but never knows where to start. I just had to give them a little push.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you’re our friend,” Sylvain says. It’s obvious to him, and to Ingrid, and to Felix, though he would never admit it out loud. The only one who struggles to understand is Dimitri himself. “Also the arts council is running a battle of the bands and Ingrid has already entered us, but we can’t win without you.”  
  
“You could,” Dimitri points out. “You can sing.”  
  
“I can’t sing and play bass and drums all at the same time. And I’d rather you sang regardless. You’re what makes Blue Lions… well, Blue Lions. Without us we’re just… Sylvain and Felix and maybe Ingrid if we can rope her in.”  
  
“I saw your concert. You were very good.”  
  
“Wasn’t the same, though,” Sylvain says wistfully, kicking at snow. “Right, Ingrid? We’re just not as good as the whole band!”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, pausing and falling into step beside Sylvain. Felix waits up ahead, watching as the three of them approach. “Blue Lions is the three of you, doing what you do best.”

Dimitri hangs back, allowing Sylvain and Ingrid to pass them. He stands beside Felix, until he turns away, and Dimitri has to run for a few steps to catch up with him. Felix keeps his eyes forward, staring at the backs of his friends in front of him. Dimitri has always got the impression that Felix doesn’t really like him. But it’s hard to tell, really, when Felix is so grumpy all the time with everyone, and he’s never been more hostile to Dimitri than he has to everyone else.

“Cold out,” Dimitri says.

“Yeah. Snow’s mostly melted too, gross.”

The silence seems to stretch as long as the road. Felix doesn’t look round, now staring at his trainers. Dimitri isn’t sure where they’re going – nowhere in particular, it seems. This is a lot different to the way that they played in the snow as kids – pushing each other into snow banks, making snow angels, laughing when Felix cried after Ingrid shoved snow down the back of his jumper.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles eventually.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For being an asshole,” he explains, turning his head to Dimitri. “I’ve never reached out to you when you’ve been going through things, and just blamed you for it. So yeah. I’ve been a dick.”  
  
“I’ve never asked for your help,” Dimitri says. “So I don’t mind. I’m just glad that we are friends. And I’m glad that you wanted to help me, even if you didn’t want to tell me that.”  
  
“Sylvain.”  
  
“He’s a reliable source of information,” Dimitri laughs. He stifles a yawn before stuffing his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. “Where are we going, exactly?”  
  
“Where do you think?” Felix says, turning to Dimitri with a grin. “Band practice.”

* * *

_@BlueLionsBand:_

_  
We’re back with a bang next Friday night at Shambhala! First time playing there, we’re hoping for a great turnout for a great show!_

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	12. Are You Gonna Be My Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix needs to get her attention in a flashy way. He’s never been a declaration of love person – not that he would say he was in love with her. She’s just very attractive, and someone he looks up to. In half a second of madness he considers asking Sylvain what he thinks he should do, but decides that’s quite possibly the stupidest thing he could do.

Byleth still hasn’t texted Felix back. His side of the text conversation is full with blue bubbles, hers woefully empty. He feels embarrassed that he’s even double texting her – not something he would ever have done before he met her. But he has done it, seven or so texts telling her that they’ve sorted things out, and Blue Lions will be back together as a band for a concert in less than two weeks. Byleth hasn’t responded to any of them.

He feels annoyed, mostly. It’s a stupid emotion to feel over a woman that he admittedly barely knows, slept with one time, and hung out with at a bar for an hour and a half before she told him not to speak to her. But he misses her, in a strange sort of way. He can’t even use the excuse of wanting lessons with her, because she knew as well as he did that he hated those theory lessons.

Eventually though she does reply – with a ‘sorry I was busy’ excuse that could be true. Felix knows she barely checks her phone – one of those people that doesn’t like technology. He had looked her up on social media before, and was extremely disappointed to find no trace of her aside from one fan account from her band days that was unfortunately not run by him. It was still active though, which was the weird part about the whole thing.

Felix needs to get her attention in a flashy way. He’s never been a declaration of love person – not that he would say he was in love with her. She’s just very attractive, and someone he looks up to. In half a second of madness he considers asking Sylvain what he thinks he should do, but decides that’s quite possibly the stupidest thing he could do.

So instead, he does what might possibly contend for the second stupidest thing he could do. He gets out his guitar, and a notebook, and attempts for the first time ever, to write a song. He keeps the lyrics purposefully vague so as not to scare her off completely. The guitar parts are the most important, of course, and he leaves out a drum part entirely because Sylvain will definitely be able to make one up himself.

For a moment, he considers singing it himself, because that would be the best way to get his point across to Byleth that this is a song for her, and this is his apology for being so hard headed before. Maybe he has a complicated relationship with Dimitri, but Byleth did have a point about him being…

Well, selfish wasn’t right. He had wanted to argue with her in that moment, but she had walked away on him before he had a chance to defend himself. He’s not selfish. He just doesn’t know how to express things properly. That’s a little embarrassing – he’s not a teenager any more, and he should be able to figure things out for himself. But it’s not a skill that he’s ever picked up, and it’s caused him a lot more problems than it’s worth.

If he sees her in person, he’ll be able to convince her that she was wrong. Not that he was right either, but she doesn’t know him as well as she had thought. She has the wrong idea, and all he wants is to change her opinion of him. And if she still doesn’t change her mind, that’s fine. He’ll be disappointed, but he’ll move on.

He lifts his phone, and stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He types out his message, asking Byleth if she wants to come to the concert on Friday because he’d like to see her. She responds this time, thanking him for the invite and saying she’ll try to make it. She ends the text with a smiley face, and he hopes that’s her way of saying that everything is okay between them, for the time being at least.

Felix finishes the song, Byleth’s face in his mind the whole time. There’s something about her that gives him inspiration, in a strange way. His song is done, ready to be practiced by the band at their next rehearsal. Ingrid has managed to book them a new space to practice in, somewhere that they can go semi regularly. It sounds great, and for the first time in a long time, Felix is actively excited about making music with his friends.

* * *

_{Byleth} Are you doing anything on Friday?  
  
{Jeralt} I’m free. Got any ideas?  
  
{Byleth} One of the bands I’ve been hanging out with is playing in Shambhala and their guitarist is begging me to go._

_{Jeralt} Is this the one that fancies you? You want me to go with you and beat them up?  
  
{Byleth} Please don’t beat him up. But if you’re not doing anything it’d be nice._

_{Jeralt} Sure. I could do with a drink after the week I’ve had_

_{Byleth} It’s Tuesday_

_Read 2:32pm_

* * *

The whole band is back together just as Felix had told her. Really, she’d heard from Ingrid first – they’d been keeping in touch since Ingrid had reached out asking her how to properly manage a band. Byleth had never managed a band in her life, but Ashen Demon’s manager was pretty good, so she just told Ingrid what he did. And Ingrid had gotten them into both the Battle of the Bands competition and a gig in Shambhala, so clearly her tips worked.

Byleth and Jeralt settle themselves at the bar. If she was here on her own, she might have tried to seek out some people she knew from work or similar. But her father liked a drink, and she knew there was no point in finding a table, because Jeralt liked to sit at the bar and she would quickly be abandoned.

He nurses a pint, narrowing his eyes at the group on the stage. Byleth’s vodka cranberry disappears at an alarming rate in a vain attempt to soothe her nerves. She hasn’t properly spoken to Felix in about three weeks, just a few texts in confirmation of her attendance tonight. Jeralt orders her another drink.

“So which one is the guitarist?” He asks as the band sets up.

“Blue hair,” Byleth says weakly.

“Ah. Well, you could do worse.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“Do you like him?” Jeralt asks. This isn’t something that they ever discuss – her love life has been more or less off limits her whole life, but with a drink in them already maybe some of those hard-set boundaries have been blurred.

“Yeah, I guess. Too early to say.”  
  
“Break his nose if he hurts you.”  
  
“I will.”

Eventually, Blue Lions form properly, Dimitri on one side of the stage, Felix on the other, Sylvain in the middle at the back. There’s a smirk tugging at Sylvain’s lip as he catches Felix’s eye. He returns with a scowl, and then he turns away. The stage is quite far away from where they sit, but Byleth is sure that Felix is making eye contact with her. He nods, and she nods back. Jeralt rolls his eyes.

“Hi everyone,” Dimitri says. “Thank you for all your well wishes, I am now doing much better. Hope you enjoy the show tonight. This is a new song.”  
  
Byleth raises an eyebrow – she hadn’t heard of any new songs. But it begins with drums and bass before Felix arrives with a guitar riff that she is certain will be in her head for days. And she realises, somehow, when he looks up from the pedal board and stares straight at her that this is Felix’s song. A song that he wrote, that sounds so different from the songs that Blue Lions usually play, but still sounds so familiar.

Felix’s fingers fly across the fretboard as he plays, one foot controlling the pedal board and the other tapping out the rhythm with his foot. It’s only when he stops playing, and Sylvain stops too, but Dimitri’s voice keeps going, that Byleth realises that she’s supposed to be listening to the words too. And Dimitri’s voice is so clear tonight, strangely crisp compared to his usual growl. Byleth wonders if this song was meant for her, and then suddenly wishes that her father wasn’t sitting beside her.

He’s not going to know. He’s always been the one person that can consistently read her facial expressions, but Byleth lifts her drink instead, suddenly finding the ice cubes very interesting. Jeralt clearly doesn’t seem to find the band very interesting – he raises an eyebrow, and when the song comes to an end, he doesn’t applaud.

“They’re a bit shit,” he admits after their fourth song.

“They’re not professionals,” Byleth defends (though she knows that to some extent, he’s right).

“I’ve heard worse, though. Much worse. Tell your boyfriend that he needs to learn how to play properly, his technique is atrocious.”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Byleth defends. “And he asked me to teach him. I didn’t want to.”  
  
“If he’s going to be hanging around you at all for an extended period of time, I don’t want to listen to shit playing. I’ll teach him myself – I taught you.”  
  
“He’ll die if you teach him,” Byleth warns.  
  
“Even better.”

Their set ends, and Jeralt begrudgingly claps, before promptly swivelling back around in his seat and ordering another pint. Byleth pats him on the shoulder and slides off her own stool, heading in the direction of back stage.

It doesn’t take long to find Felix once she eventually convinces the bouncer there that she’s actually friends with the band and Ingrid appears behind him and tells him to let her in. Ingrid gives her a knowing look, and she heads out the back door, where Felix stands outside, back against the wall.

“That was great,” Byleth says as a way of announcing herself. Felix turns his head to look at her, surprised that she’s made it out here.

“I’m… glad you’re here.”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she says, and surprises herself with her honesty. “I liked that new song.”  
  
“I wrote that, actually,” Felix admits.

“I realised. Putting all those lessons to good use.”  
  
“All three of them,” he says with a snort.  
  
“Two and a half,” she’s quick to correct.

Felix laughs, a rare sound that’s becoming more common the more time she spends with him. He has a lot to say to her now that she’s here, but the words just get mixed up in his head and he just ends up sighing. Byleth moves from the doorway to lean beside him, their legs just brushing against one another.

“Sorry for being a dick before. I went with Sylvain and Ingrid to Dimitri’s place and we talked everything out. He agreed to get therapy, and I told him I was sorry for being so terrible to him for years. It wasn’t his fault he was sick.”  
  
“That sounds very grown up of you,” Byleth says. To other people, that might have sounded condescending, but Felix remembers her words from their argument last time they saw each other, and realises that this is her way of apologising. “I didn’t mean to yell at you like that before. I just… I’ve never had a proper relationship before, and I know this isn’t one, but it felt… weird, and I just suddenly saw all these problems that seemed linked, and went off on you without asking you to explain anything.”  
  
“They are linked. They’re linked to me being a fucking idiot all the time. I can’t do feelings and stuff. I’m trying, though,” he says earnestly, and Byleth is inclined to agree with his assessment.

“I’m glad to hear that.”  
  
“Though… if you want this to be a proper relationship… I could work with that,” Felix mumbles, his cheeks tinted pink, arms folded across his chest.

“I’d like that,” Byleth says. She finds herself smiling, and is glad that she abandoned Jeralt inside because he would know that this smile is her equivalent to a grin.

Before she has time to say anything else, Felix is towering over her, tilting her chin up to meet his, and his mouth is crashing down onto hers in a way that feels more familiar than it actually is. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck, one hand finding its way into his hair, pulling it out of his usual ponytail.

For a moment, Byleth is distracted by how very soft Felix’s hair is. That’s before he nips at her bottom lip, playful and yet strangely insistent. As he does this his hands tighten on Byleth’s waist. He lifts her up so she’s closer to his height, and she instinctively wraps her legs around him, laughing into their kiss as his tongue slides along her lips.

She tastes of cranberry, he notes, a specific flavour that he’s only familiar with from places like this. It’s a dry taste, but one he quite likes on her. And the smell of her shampoo is overwhelming too – reminding him of the smell she left in his bed after that one fateful night.

The door on their left swings open, crashing against the wall just inches from Byleth’s arm. The kiss ends as abruptly as it started as both Byleth and Felix turn their heads to the sudden intrusion. Sylvain stumbles out, and looks almost euphoric as he gazes upon the scene in front of him.

“Ingrid!” He yells, heading back inside, clearly excited to tell his flat mate the good news.

Byleth unwraps her legs from around Felix, and he allows her to lower herself to the ground. She hands him his hair tie, and runs a hand through her own hair. She leans her forehead against his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Felix murmurs, his voice thick with implication.

“Yes,” Byleth breathes, “as long as you don’t abandon me in the middle of the night this time.”  
  
“I promise I won’t.”

“I’ll need to tell my dad I won’t be going back with him,” she says, pulling herself away from him and making her way back inside.

“Wait, Jeralt’s here?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Do you reckon I could get his autograph?” Felix says in his best attempt at casual.

“He wants to teach you guitar,” Byleth says. “Thinks you’re shit, but if you’re going to be hanging around, doesn’t want you embarrassing him. So if you want to hang around a bit longer… guitar lessons with my dad.”  
  
It sounds so simple when she puts it like that – all he has to do is attend a few lessons with Jeralt and then he’s allowed to date Byleth. It’s a weird system, sure, but not one that he can complain about when he gets to both take Byleth home with him tonight, and learn from one of his favourite musicians.

“I’ve put my kit in the car already, since I assume I’m not getting a lift home tonight. I’ll ride with Ingrid,” Sylvain says, shoving Felix’s guitar case into his arms.

“You don’t have a helmet,” Felix points out.

“She always has a spare one, you should know this.”  
  
That’s the end of the conversation. Sylvain saunters away, leaving Felix with the knowledge that he’s going to have to bring the kit back to Sylvain in the morning. It’s worth it though, when he knows that Sylvain is going to give him some peace.

Byleth takes his hand firmly, and guides him through the crowd to the bar, where Ashen Demon’s bassist sits, chatting up a storm with the bartender. Byleth clears her throat, and Jeralt looks around, smiling when his eyes land on her and then grimacing when he spots Felix behind her.

“This is Felix,” she says.

“Nice to meet you,” Felix manages to get out.

“So you’re the boyfriend,” Jeralt says, turning in his seat to fully face Felix. “She’ll always be a better guitarist than you, so don’t get too big for your boots.”  
  
“I’m well aware of that.”

“Good. Treat her right.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“I won’t be home till late,” Byleth says. “Don’t wait up for me.”  
  
“I never do,” Jeralt says, laughing as he turns back around. It’s par for the course with him, but it surprises Felix how blasé he seems to be. Byleth leads him out the door, and Felix points out his car on the other side of the road.

“I know you’re insatiable. Can you wait until we get home?”  
  
“I’m not a teenager, Felix. And I think you’re worse than I am anyway.”

* * *

_{Linhardt} Unfortunately I do not have a car nor can I drive so I can’t offer to pick you up tomorrow :(_

_{Marianne} It’s fine! The restaurant is near my apartment so I can just walk._

_{Linhardt} I’ve made a reservation for 6:30, so I’ll see you then_

_{Marianne} I’m looking forward to it._

_{Marianne} :)_


	13. Mr Blue Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time the third band comes on, Byleth is wide awake. This is Underground, one of her personal favourites. While her allegiances are probably supposed to lie with Blue Lions, Underground have much more her style of sound. They’re like the old Ashen Demon, Byleth thinks with a pang of nostalgia.
> 
> Apart from the fact that Yuri Leclerc is nothing like her father, of course. He has a very strange energy, she thinks, as they start their original song. It’s one of Byleth’s favourites, and she knows if she was on the judging panel they would have won already.

Marianne has never been on a date in her life. This isn’t something that bothers her at all – she’d never felt the need to keep up with her peers in relationship matters. But now, sitting across from Linhardt in one of Garreg Mach’s nicer restaurants, she wishes that maybe she had gone a date before now.

She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She dressed nicely for the special occasion, and when she looks at the other people in the restaurant Marianne is glad that she’s not overdressed. Linhardt seems to have made an effort too, but Marianne has always thought him fashionable, so it’s not really much of a surprise.

It’s slightly warmer now – warm enough that she doesn’t need to wear two jumpers and a scarf with her coat. Inside the restaurant is even warm enough to shed her coat, unlike the coffee shops where they usually tend to meet.

Linhardt leans his hand in his palm, staring at Marianne across the table from him. For once in his life, he’s more or less out of words, caused mostly by how pretty Marianne looks tonight. Of course, Linhardt has always found Marianne pretty, ever since he first set his eyes on her. But there’s something about her tonight that looks different, and maybe it’s just the fact that he has realised in the last few weeks that he likes her in a way that’s not just a shared interest in local radio.

“Is everything okay?” Marianne asks quietly after the waiter takes their orders.

“Oh, yes. I’m just glad you agreed to come with me.”  
  
“Well, I… I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, and getting to know you,” Marianne admits. “And you’ve been so nice with supporting me getting the new job.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with you. I’m glad we bumped into each other all those times.”

“Sort of strange, don’t you think?” She laughs, and he hums his own amusement.

“Perhaps you could call it fate.”  
  
“If you believe in such things.”

“I think I do,” Linhardt muses. “So you were coming home from work, intending to go to the shop for your dinner. Instead, the rain was too bad, so you stopped in a café you’d never been to before, one that I tend to frequent. Ingrid was nice to you, so you went back time and time again. And we got to talking.”  
  
“Well, I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Really?”  
  
“I think all this began… when I followed you on Instagram. You know, your feed is very aesthetically pleasing. I, um… I thought you were very attractive.”  
  
Once again, Linhardt is dumbfounded, staring straight across the table at Marianne. She finds _him_ attractive? For weeks he had been wondering if he should ask her out on a date, even after the time he suggested that they hung out outside of their favoured cafés. Marianne tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and nibbles at the skin on her lip, worrying that she overstepped.

“I can’t believe that you… think I’m attractive,” Linhardt says, his voice betraying a laugh. “Because Marianne, I truly believe you are the most attractive person I have ever seen.”  
  
“Oh!” Marianne squeaks, her cheeks rapidly turning a pretty shade of pink.

“I mean it. I do find myself quite besotted with you.”  
  
“So this _is_ a date, then,” Marianne confirms. “I did wonder…”  
  
“Is that okay?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“I was thinking after dinner, maybe we could take a walk? Along the canal, maybe. It’s not raining this evening.”

“That would be really nice,” Marianne says, her face splitting into a grin.

They don’t bother with dessert, instead leaving after the main course and heading out into the city. It’s nice at night time, especially now that the nights are slightly less cold than before. The fluorescent orange glow of the city catches them in its light as Linhardt takes Marianne’s hand.

She smiles to herself, a small tug on her lips that wouldn’t be noticed by most people. But Linhardt’s eyes track all of her features, keeping a watch on how Marianne reacts. And he smiles too – he’s enthralled by Marianne, astounded by the fact that she’s so close to him.

Their restaurant isn’t too far from the canal, and Linhardt once again marvels as Marianne’s face lights up as they approach. It’s not the most impressive canal in the country, but it’s a nice spot nonetheless. Linhardt squeezes Marianne’s hand, and the pair head off down the path.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Marianne mumbles, turning her head to Linhardt.

“Of course. I’ve enjoyed our time together thus far.”  
  
“As have I. It’s a little odd… I’ve never been on a date before,” she confesses, turning her head away once again in the hope that the darkness will conceal her blush.

“Really?” Linhardt asks, stopping in his tracks, effectively stopping Marianne too.

“It’s a little embarrassing.”  
  
“Not at all. I’ve never been on a date either. So you could say that this was really just my idea of what a date maybe should be like.”

“Well, it’s been fun. I‘ve enjoyed my evening immensely.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime?” Linhardt asks, deciding to be bold.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Marianne hums. “Oh! I have a spare ticket to the Battle of the Bands thing next week. You’d have to sit with me to do press, but…”  
  
“I’d much prefer that to standing in a crowd of sweaty teenagers, wouldn’t you?” Linhardt laughs. “Maybe this can be the massive collaboration of Eagles Radio and Seiros FM.”

“I think you’d have to run that by the scary CEO first. But I’m sure Byleth will be okay with it. She seems very nice.”

“Well then, I look forward to meeting her next week, and spending time with you once again.”  
  
“You flatter me.”

“I like you, Marianne! I’m not going to lie about that.”  
  
“Well, I… I like you too. And I’m very glad that… that we’re able to spend all this time together.”

Marianne’s smile lights up her face, and Linhardt can’t resist the urge to lean in to her and press a kiss to her lips. It’s quick and chaste and sweet, but nothing is sweeter than the smile that Marianne gives him when he pulls away. He laughs, and she pulls him closer to kiss him again.

* * *

_@TakeMeOut:  
  
Let’s gooooo only one week left until the end of the Garreg Mach arts festival! Blue Lions are going to win!_

_@HildasFashion replied:  
  
No chance Sylvain! Golden Deer will come out on top because we have musical skill and style. You have neither!_

_@CasparDrums replied:  
  
STRIKE FORCE WIN! STRIKE FORCE WIN! STRIKE FORCE WIN!_

_@Dorothea_Soprano replied:  
  
We’re not even entering Caspar please don’t embarrass us when we’re cool now_

_@FHFraldarius replied:  
  
You’ll never be cool_

_@TakeMeOut replied:_

_OOOOOOHHHHHHH_

* * *

The City Hall in Garreg Mach is rarely used for anything other than weddings. It’s a big space – years ago it used to be used for tea dances and other such events. Tonight, it’s filled to the brim with music lovers from around the city who queued for hours online to get tickets to the most exciting event of Garreg Mach’s Arts Festival.

The stage crew set up the stage, hauling amps and staging rigs and instrument stands onto the stage. This all happens under the direction of Raphael Kirsten – Claude’s muscle who got this particular gig through a recommendation from Lorenz. Mics are plugged in and drum kits set up as the hall fills with people eager to see what’s going on.

At the back of the room, adjacent to the sound team, sit Marianne and Byleth. Their mics are all set up for commentary, and Byleth has just finished connecting the two full room mics to her laptop. The soundcheck has already happened – two days ago, in fact, but with other events, all the equipment had to be taken down.

There’s only twenty minutes before the show is due to begin, and ten minutes before their coverage begins on Seiros FM. Marianne has only been working there a matter of weeks at this point, and this is her first live event for the company. Byleth seems very calm beside her, and this helps Marianne to feel at ease too.

“You ready?” Byleth asks, turning her head to Marianne with a slight uplift of her lips. Marianne supposes this is a smile – she had heard that the DJ wasn’t as expressive as many people at the radio station.

“Yes, I think so. I’m a little nervous, though,” she admits.

“No need to be. When’s your friend getting here?”  
  
“Not sure,” Marianne mumbles. “Soon, hopefully. He’ll be quiet, though. I promise.”  
  
“No skin off my back if he comments. Probably won’t get picked up on over all of that anyway,” Byleth laughs, gesturing towards the stage.

“Is your partner’s band playing?” Marianne asks, vaguely aware that she heard that Byleth’s boyfriend was in a band and that’s how they had met.

“Yep. Blue Lions, fourth on the bill.”  
  
“Are you rooting for them to win, then?”  
  
“Not a chance,” Byleth laughs. “There’s a lot of other bands that I like better than them. They’re really nice people though, I’ve hung out with them a lot.”  
  
“Oh! Well, I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts as we go, then.”  
  
“And don’t hold back either,” Byleth tells her with another attempt at a smile. “I know you’re a little worried, but most listeners won’t care about what either of us have to say. They’re just listening to hear the music. Just pretend you’re having a conversation with me.”

Marianne manages to smile at her, her nerves settling with Byleth’s reassurance. She turns to her notes, and out of the corner of her eye, she spots someone waving to her. Linhardt stands beside their little booth, and Marianne bends over to undo the latch and let him squeeze in. It’s a little cramped, but none of them are complaining.

“Byleth, this is Linhardt. Linhardt, Byleth.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Byleth offers – no smile, but a neutral expression of interest instead.

“And you. You’ve caused quite a stir in the radio world.”  
  
“I’m doing my best at my job, and that’s all. I think it’s your company that’s throwing a fit. I got a job offer from your CEO the other day. I’ve only met her a handful of times.”  
  
“They’re trying to poach you?” Marianne asks, scandalised.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Byleth reassures her. “I like my job as it is.”  
  
“You’d get paid more,” Linhardt points out. “But I can’t fault you for staying. Job security is almost more important than job enjoyment.”  
  
“And I have both at Seiros FM,” Byleth agrees. “Speaking of which, we’re nearly ready to begin.”  
  
She lifts her phone to check the time, and noticing it’s a few minutes before the show goes on air, shoots Felix a quick text to tell him good luck. She gets no response other than a thumbs up, but wouldn’t really expect anything else from the man. She slides her headphones on, and Marianne mirrors her, as the show begins.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your ten-minute call,” comes a voice over the backstage intercom.

They’re all well aware of their position in the running order – not only did they rehearse in that order the other day, but it’s posted on the walls on printed out A4 pages. The backstage rooms are filled with people – not quite enough rooms for everyone to have their own. Blue Lions are stuck in a room with Claude and the Golden Deer, which involves a lot of friendly trash talking about who’s going to come out on top.

It feels a bit strange with no Ingrid there while they prepare for the gig. She’s out in the crowd somewhere, presumably with her camera so she can get pictures for their website. Ingrid has been taking her job a lot more seriously, balancing that with the day to day running of the café. It’s been a lot of work for her, but Blue Lions is doing better for it, and they fully intend to win tonight to pay it back to her.

Dimitri plucks the strings of his bass almost inaudibly, humming quietly to himself. It’s a warm up really, but he’s too shy to sing properly out loud, especially with people like Claude in the room. He spares a glance to the Golden Deer – they’re huddled together, playing some sort of card game on the table, clearly confident enough about the competition that they’re not discussing it at all.

Sylvain twirls his drum sticks from one hand to the other. For the last week he’s been complaining about not being able to use his own kit – there’s not time to move kits on and off stage for each band, the organisers said. It’s their kit or no kit, and Sylvain had very begrudgingly sucked it up, but continues to complain about it as if it’s going to change.

Felix looks at his phone – there’s a text from Byleth wishing them good luck before their performance. He smiles for a split second, and instantly regrets it when he can see Sylvain grinning out of the corner of his eye. He lifts his head to glare at him, and hurriedly sticks his phone into his pocket.

“Was that your lady love?” Sylvain asks with a smirk.

“Why can you never say things normally?”  
  
“So it was,” Sylvain infers, nodding sagely. “Nice to see you smiling about something.”  
  
“I smile all the time.”

“No you don’t,” Dimitri says, earning a glare from Felix, making it two for two.

“You nervous?” Sylvain asks, genuinely this time.  
  
“Not really,” Felix admits. “There’s no real stakes to this – they don’t have any money to give us, it’s just a trophy.”  
  
“You are allowed to do things for fun,” Sylvain points out.  
  
“I know that.”

“Please don’t argue,” Dimitri cuts in. “We have a show to do!”

The lights in the main hall go down to an excited murmur from the gathered crowd. From above them, Byleth can see her dad, and Ingrid, and if she squints far enough she’s almost certain she can make out Flayn, notably without Seteth in tow. Clearly this was deemed a safe enough event for her to go to on her own or maybe with her friends.

“And here we have Catherine Charon, coming on to the stage to give us her opening remarks,” Marianne says into the mic, and Byleth marvels at how calm her companion seems to be.

“Welcome everyone!” Catherine calls, and the crowd cheer, despite Catherine not really being all that interesting. “We’re glad to have you all gathered here this evening to hear ten of the top bands from Garreg Mach! Of course, this is a competition, and we have judges! Let me introduce them to you!”  
  
At the front of the room, four people ascend the stairs, all people that Byleth vaguely recognises. Catherine introduces them, not that they need introduced to most people. First off is Alois Rangeld, a former member of Ashen Demon that is sort of like a weird uncle to Byleth. She knew he was going to be there, and he had seemed very excited about being invited.

The next two Byleth knows less well. There’s Manuela Casagranda, an opera singer from the Enbarr opera that relocated here to teach opera at GMU. Hanneman Essar is a researcher in old music at GMU, and while Byleth isn’t sure that he’s really qualified to be judging a band competition, she supposes he must know something.

The last person on the lineup is Shamir Nevrand, Catherine’s wife. She was the lead guitarist of a very popular rock band Assassin a while back, but like Ashen Demon, they hadn’t managed to last. Regardless, their music stood the test of time, and her guitar solos were legendary across Fódlan, despite the band being from Dagda.

The judges take their seats in front of the stage, and the spotlight on Catherine disappears as she disappears off stage. Her voice can still be heard though, from the wings, announcing the first band.

Byleth and Marianne make the odd comment at the end of each song – one original song and one cover. The first band’s original song is good and the cover terrible, the second the other way around.

By the time the third band comes on, Byleth is wide awake. This is Underground, one of her personal favourites. While her allegiances are probably supposed to lie with Blue Lions, Underground have much more her style of sound. They’re like the old Ashen Demon, Byleth thinks with a pang of nostalgia.

Apart from the fact that Yuri Leclerc is nothing like her father, of course. He has a very strange energy, she thinks, as they start their original song. It’s one of Byleth’s favourites, and she knows if she was on the judging panel they would have won already.

But their cover song is a bit more of a bold choice – the pick a Queen song, and even within the first few words, an audible ripple of surprise goes over the audience. But while no other band would even have dreamed of picking this song, no other band would have done such a good job with it. And Byleth thinks that’s mostly thanks to Yuri Leclerc and his glittery Flying V.

As they leave the stage, Byleth begins to feel a bit nervous. She delivers her thoughts on Underground in the most restrained manner she can, without giving away that she thinks they should win no matter what else happens. While she’s talking, Blue Lions come on, the three of them setting up. The three of them are much too far away for them to actually be able to see Byleth, but she smiles anyway, wishing them good luck.

She’s heard their original song countless times – it must be their favourite song, as they played it at all the gigs she’s been to as well as on the radio. Their stage presence is lacking, she thinks, but maybe that’s just because of who they came after. Sylvain is really going for it at the back, but Dimitri looks nervous and Felix, as always, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Their cover of choice brings a smile to Byleth’s face – none other than Hotel California, which Byleth knows to be the first song they played together. It’s the obvious choice, she thinks, when she sees how energised they all seem to get as soon as that first chord plays out. It’s just Dimitri and Felix at first, with a lot of the onus on Felix himself. But he looks like he’s enjoying himself – his eyes meet Dimitri’s and he grins, and Dimitri smiles back just as wide before he starts to sing.

Byleth remembers Felix talking about it before, almost ten years ago. Dimitri couldn’t sing it properly there, but he’s an adult now, and his voice has settled into the range better. Sylvain’s harmonisations cut through sweeter than she would’ve expected from him, and she finds herself wondering what Felix sounds like when he sings.

He’s practically bouncing on the spot as the third verse ends and his solo begins, and Byleth finds herself smiling just how he is as he concentrates solely on his music. She knows this is what he wants to do, and in that moment she wonders how many strings she can pull with people she knows to get him what he wants. While this isn’t the most technically difficult song, she’s heard Felix play much harder things before – she wants the best for him, and this is clearly what he’s best at.

She can’t help but applaud when they finish, Felix’s chest heaving from the exertion. Byleth grins as Marianne rolls her eyes in a friendly way, and the three of them on stage disappear, quickly replaced by the next band.

Byleth doesn’t remember much about the next three – one of them she interviewed on the show and she liked them, but they have a tough act to follow. The seventh band is terrible, their mics not working or their instruments out of tune or some combination of the three, but Byleth feels sorry for them as they trudge off the stage.

Band number eight is Claude and the Golden Deer, Catherine announces. Byleth has much higher hopes for them, having caught a couple of their gigs. Claude could rival Yuri in stage presence, hands gripping the microphone as he croons. The rest of the band is probably the most technically competent, and just like Underground, they bring out the big guns and cover Elton John to end their set. Byleth once again raises an eyebrow – this is going to be hard to judge.

Once all ten bands have performed, Catherine gets to the stage and thanks them all for their hard work. The judges take ten minutes to deliberate over their choices – ten agonising minutes that Byleth and Marianne have to fill for the radio. There’s no ad breaks for live shows such as this, and it takes all of their skill to keep a commentary about what they did and didn’t like about the concert, which bands had good this and that and the other, before the four judges take to the stage, and all ten bands file on, looking cramped between mic stands and rigging.

“This was really hard to decide,” Shamir says, leaning into the mic. “There’s a lot of talent on this stage, and in the city in general. That being said, we have three prizes to give out, so… let’s get on with it.”  
  
“Third prize,” Hanneman says, taking over Shamir’s position, “goes to Blue Lions!”  
  
That was an unexpected development, Byleth thinks. Dimitri steps forward to take their trophy, and Sylvain claps both him and Felix on the back when he returns, a big smile on all their faces. Manuela is the next to step up, holding onto the mic for support.

“Next up we have the wonderful second prize trophy, going to… Claude and the Golden Deer!”  
  
They cheer louder than the crowd does, Claude accepting the trophy from Manuela with a wink and then passing it off to Hilda, who holds it over her head as she continues to cheer.

“And lastly!” Alois calls, taking centre stage. “Our first place, and winners of this Battle of the Bands event is none other than Underground!”

Byleth claps along this time, glad that her personal favourites won. Yuri flicks his hair as he accepts their award, a shiny trophy that’s as big as Alois’s head. The other three members of the band smile and cheer as their picture is taken, and slowly, the stage empties, and the hall after that.

“That’s it?” Marianne asks once the mics are turned off.  
  
“Yep. People will be hanging about outside for hours, probably, but that’s it for now,” Byleth explains. “Did you enjoy yourself?”  
  
“Oh yes. I hope we get to do more things like this in the future. If that’s not too presumptuous of me.”  
  
“Not at all. I like working with you, and you know your stuff. I’ll definitely be looking you out for when I need someone in the know next time.”  
  
“Thank you,” Marianne grins. “It’s been great working with you too!”

* * *

_@TakeMeOut:  
  
I’ll take third place!_

_[PIC]_

_@GoldenDeer replied:  
  
We have a better trophy_

_@FHFraldarius replied:_

_And a bigger ego_

_@GoldenDeer replied:_

_You wound me, Felix._

_@TakeMeOut replied:  
  
Did you know he has a steady girlfriend? And you don’t?  
  
@GoldenDeer replied:  
  
They’ve been going out less than a month, I’d hardly call that steady._

_@FHFraldarius replied:_  
  
I’m going to kill both of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading if you got to the end!! :D


End file.
